


My Brother's Keeper

by phantisma



Series: Keeper Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Bondage, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-18
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 50,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complete AU.  On the night the demon kills Mary Winchester, John saves Dean, but before he can go back for Sam, the fire spreads.  It is assumed that Sam is dead along with his mother.  In reality, he has been taken and is raised by a family dedicate to the demon who killed Mary.  One night after a hunt, Dean runs into him in a bar in Palo Alto, never a clue who he really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While I have included warnings for non-con and underage, both are actually "off-camera" and are only told in bits of flashbacks and memories.

Palo Alto, California

Dean dragged himself out of the cemetery, covered in dirt and blood and grime that only comes after a particular kind of kill. It had been grisly and he was tired, but kind of wired and the thing that had once been a Stanford football player was not coming back out of that grave any time soon. There was a certain satisfaction at that. He’d never liked jocks all that much and the guy had looked a little like Bobby Brennen, the bully who’d made that last year of school Dean’s last year of school.

The Impala was a welcome sight, and he propped up the trunk to drop in the shotgun and shovel and dig around for a clean shirt, stripping out of the grime coated one and tossing it in beside a bottle of holy water and a pair of brass knuckles.

He was half way to the campus when it struck him that what he really needed was a drink, something stiff and bracing and then maybe he something sweet and blond and curvy.

It was a college town, which meant college bars, but that could mean cheerleaders, and Dean may not be much for jocks, but cheerleaders were a different story, so he found a parking spot in an alley a few blocks down from some joint called Perry’s, sniff checks the shirt and rummages in the glove box for the bottle of cheap after shave that his father left behind the last time he’d seen him. A quick check of the rear view mirror and he was good to go.

Perry’s was a lot like every other college bar, filled with pretentious yuppie-babies spending Daddy’s money and arguing about whatever deep meaningful topic was the latest in thing, jocks competing at the dart boards and pool tables, and the spattering of patrons just trying to ignore everyone else. Dean made his way to the bar and snagged a stool beside a pretty brunette and waited for the bar tender to notice him.

He smiled at the girl, but she rolled her eyes and turned away, her eyes tracking one of the big bruisers at the pool table in the corner. “Don’t mind her, she’s only got eyes for Bubba there,” a voice said beside him.

Dean turned slowly. “Bubba?”

Beside him a tall guy with too much hair and puppy dog eyes grinned and shrugged. “Or you know, Billy Bob…whatever.”

The grin was blinding and Dean found himself smiling back. “Yeah, whatever. Jocks.”

The other guy laughed and nodded. “Yeah. Thank you. Apparently I am the only guy in Stanford who doesn’t care about the whole football thing.”

“College boy, huh?” Dean sat back and regarded him. He was obviously younger, but taller with impossibly large hands that caught his eye as he held one of them out to him.

“Sorry, I’m Sam.”

Dean smiled again and accepted the hand, clearing his throat as it’s warmth enveloped him. “Dean…I’m Dean.”

“What are you drinking Dean? I’m buying.”

“No, you don’t have to—“

“A consolation.” Sam inclined his head at the brunette who was ignoring them both. Dean looked over his shoulder, then back at Sam, who he was beginning to think was actually prettier than the girl.

“Okay, beer.”

Sam waved the bartender over. “A beer for my friend, and I think…a shot of whiskey. I’ll have the same. Put it on my tab.”

“You have a tab?” 

Sam shrugged. “I come here a lot. He knows I’m good for it.”

Dean picked up the shot as it was delivered and held it aloft. “To being good for it,” he said with a smirk.

Sam picked up his own shot and leaned in closer. “To being good at it.”

Dean nearly choked as he swallowed, the fire burning deep as the whiskey slid down his throat. Sam laughed and patted his back, already waving the bar tender back for more as he downed half his beer.

“So, Dean. Tell me…what brings you into my favorite bar on the last night of school.” Sam said after two more shots, his feet planted on either side of Dean’s stool, effectively capturing Dean’s legs between his.

Dean frowned a little and shrugged. “Just wandering by. Wasn’t ready to go back to the hotel after…work.”

Sam leaned in, holding his beer between them. “And what is work for you?”

“Doesn’t matter…it was brutal though.”

“Around here?”

“Hmm?” Dean had to lean in to hear him over the noise by the pool tables. Sam’s eyes were dark green and smoky, and don’t seem entirely focused. “What?”

“Your work…is it around here?”

“It was tonight. I move around a lot.”

Sam nodded and raised his beer, clipping Dean on the chin. “Oh, man, sorry. I—“ But Dean was laughing and wiping his own beer from his jeans and Sam cracked up too.

“You are a light-weight.” Dean said, setting his beer aside.

“No…no I’m not.” Sam downed the last of his last shot and shook his finger at Dean. “I was here for hours before you got here.”

Dean laughed. “Whatever, dude. Thanks for the drinks. I should probably go before I’m too shitfaced to get back to the motel.”

“No. Stay. “ Sam’s large hand was on his arm and it burned. Dean felt his cock twitch, hardening from just that touch. Sam’s smile was blinding, like he could see the effect he was having already. He was in Dean’s space now, his face near Dean’s ear. “Or take me with you.”

Dean swallowed hard as that hand moved from his arm to his cock, cupping him through the denim. “Damn.” It had been a long time. He was moving for the door, not even caring that Sam’s hand was still between his legs or that people might see. Outside the night air embraced them and Sam was pulling him, turning them, pressing Dean against the wall and moving in slowly toward his face.

His lips were as hot as his hands, and softer than Dean thought should be possible and before he knew what he’d done, his mouth was open and Sam’s tongue was chasing the air to his lungs. Big hands were on his face. Dean groaned as Sam’s feet kicked his legs apart and started massaging his groin with a knee. “Fuck!”

“If you insist.” Sam said with a smile, pulling back just enough that Dean could see him as more than the fuzzy face glued to his.

“My car…” Dean pulled him toward the alley, toward the Impala.

The alley swallowed them and Sam tangled them together again, twisting them around until Dean felt the bumper at his knees and his body was against the hood. Sam’s hands were already fighting with his fly and when Dean tried to help, Sam batted his hands away. There was something dark and possessive in Sam’s eyes as he unzipped Dean and in one motion had his cock out and in his mouth. “Fuck!” Dean’s head banged on the Impala’s hood as Sam swallowed around him, his hands moving to pull Dean’s jeans down.

This guy had one talented tongue and Dean was thrusting already, so close to coming when Sam sucked up and off and stood there looking at him. “What?”

“You have the most beautiful cock.” Sam grinned, his hand closing around it. “It tastes incredible.”

“So why’d you stop?” Dean half sat up, pressing his elbows against the hood.

Sam was leaning over him, his lips pulling on Dean’s. “Because I have rules, Dean.”

Dean swallowed and pulled back. “Huh?”

“Don’t worry…I won’t hurt you.” Sam’s hand was stroking him and his lips were nipping over his neck. Dean was pretty sure he should be concerned, should be worried…but he was hot and he was so close and all he wanted was to feel that tongue again. “I just have simple rules about sex.” Sam’s teeth scraped over Dean’s neck and he whimpered in a very unmanly way. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

“God…yes…Sam…”

“Say it again.” Sam’s voice was all demanding and harsh and it makes Dean’s cock jump.

“Sam.”

He smiled against Dean’s throat and then he was sliding away, his mouth closing over Dean’s twitching cock and his tongue sliding over the veiny underside. “I want this Dean.” His balls were in one of those big hands and Dean was fairly sure he’d lost the ability to speak coherently. “Will you give it to me?”

“Uhgh…fuck…” His thumb was moving over the slit, rubbing pre-come around the head and Dean thrust up. “Sam.”

Sam nipped at his lips again. “Tell me Dean.”

“Yes,…anything…fuck…”

Sam’s smile was predatory as he whispered, “Good boy,” and engulfed Dean’s cock. Dean thrust upward uncontrollably, his hands grasping for something, anything and finding only the Impala’s hood until one of Sam’s hands twined around his. “Come for me Dean…I want to watch you come.”

And he did, arching up off of the car, even though Sam’s only holding his hand and his come spurts in a high arc. When Sam lay his head on Dean’s stomach and caught the stream in his mouth on its decent, Dean’s cock managed to shoot a second time and he blanked out momentarily.

“Damn.”

“I’ll say.” Sam hasn’t moved, his fingers twined around Dean’s, his head on Dean’s stomach. Dean felt exposed with his cock still hanging out near Sam’s shoulder and his jeans around his knees, but didn't feel pressed to get up. Not until Sam stirred. “Get dressed, Dean. We’re going back to your hotel.”

And Dean did get up and pulled up his pants and got in the car with Sam to head back to his hotel. And maybe he thought that should be strange…but he found all he could think about was the chance to return the favor.


	2. Chapter 2

“It isn’t much.” Dean held the door to let Sam into the crappy motel room, not sure why he was apologizing. This wasn’t a relationship, it was sex…dirty, hot, and over before the morning.

“Don’t need much.” Sam said, catching Dean around the waist and pulling him close. His lips were hard, possessive as they kissed Dean, parting his lips easily with a tongue that demanded entrance. Dean yielded to his insistent touch, letting Sam pull him closer, his long arms wrapping around him and holding him so tight he almost couldn’t breathe. 

When Sam let him go, Dean felt empty for a moment, then shook his head. That was just silly. “I’d offer you something to drink…but I don’t have anything. I’ll be out in a second…all that beer…” He closed the bathroom door and unzipped himself to pee. He was nervous, which was also silly. It wasn’t like this was his first guy…or the first time he’d brought home a relative stranger for a mindless fuck.

Sam was fucking pretty, and somehow Dean wanted nothing more than to do anything he could to make that smile…that brilliant white, blindingly sweet smile, break over his face as often as possible. He flushed and turned to wash, his eyes catching sight of himself in the mirror. “Get a grip.”

Sam was sprawled on the bed when he emerged, his legs cast obscenely wide, his eyes all dark and glittery like midnight. “Fuck.”

“You keep saying that.” Sam said with a lazy smile.

“Yeah…look at you. Who wouldn’t?”

Sam rubbed a hand over his crotch and Dean felt his cock respond, even if he’d only just come twenty minutes before. Dean turned to his bag on the table and fished around until he came up with condoms and lube. 

“You always so prepared?” Sam asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

Dean shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Boy scout?’’ Sam’s tongue shot out between his teeth when he smiled and something about it made Dean weak in the knees.

“Hardly.” His breath was harsh in his throat. 

Sam cocked an eyebrow at him and it was all the invitation Dean needed to begin pulling off his own shirt and crawl across the bed…up between Sam’s legs, open like an invitation to hell. His first kiss was little more than lips barely brushing lips, but the next was bruising, ending with tiny nips of teeth that made Sam moan. 

Sam’s hand snaked up over his stomach, up to his chest, easily finding and tracing the long scar that ran from his left side up to the nipple. “Tell me.” Sam breathed, his mouth closing over Dean’s throat.

“Accident…farm implement.” A scythe to be precise, that would have killed him, if not for his father’s quick reflexes and skill with a needle.

“Ouch…you a farmer Dean?”

Dean shook his head, then arched his neck to bring Sam’s lips down over his adam’s apple. “No…but I’ve worked on a few.”

“Interesting…and this?” His lips closed over the puckered remains of a nasty spear in his shoulder.

“Harpoon…accident.”

Sam sat back, his eyes sparkling. “Harpoon?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ll bet it is.”

Dean sat back, regarding Sam for a minute. “So…you mentioned rules…I’m curious.”

Sam’s large hands caressed over his chest in slow circles. “They’re pretty simple.” His lips pressed to Dean’s nipple and Dean groaned. “I’m always in control.” He moved to the other nipple, all teeth and tongue. “I’m always on top.”

Dean stiffened a little at that, but Sam’s tongue was sliding down to his navel, his big hands pushing him onto his back. “You come when I tell you.”

What? Dean pushed himself up on his elbows, his eyebrow arching. Sam smiled up from his belly, that blinding, unbelievable, do-that-again smile that made Dean’s stomach lurch. “And once I come in your ass…you’re mine forever.” Dean’s eyes rolled closed as Sam’s tongue fucked his navel…he’d never felt anything like it…and his cock had taken notice, straining at his jeans like he hadn’t come in a month.

Sam’s hands made quick work of his pants, leaving Dean naked and hard on the bed while he continued kissing and sucking on his skin, as if mapping him, taking inventory of each freckle, each scar,…fuck every hair.

“Damn, you’re beautiful.” Sam whispered as he made his way back up to his ear. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able sit still for a week.”

And just like that Sam flipped him over, using his knee and hands to position him on his knees. His hand splayed over Dean’s back, his thumb parting his ass, pressing against his hole even as he heard the sound of a zipper and it dawned on him that Sam was still fully clothed.

Something about that made this even hotter and Dean moaned into the sheets as he felt Sam’s cock pressing into him…with no prep, no stretching…no lube. Dean started, but Sam’s large hands held his hips and he was pressing in. “Shh…baby…you’re gonna love this…”

Dean keened, trying to move away from the pain, yet craving it at the same time. It didn’t make sense, but his cock seemed to understand it even if his head didn’t. Sam wasn’t even fully inside him and he was going to come…again…"Sam,” he gasped and it was if that one syllable said so much more as one of Sam’s hands released his hip and squeezed his cock, effectively backing him off.

“Not yet…not until I say.” Tiny kisses down his spine and Dean whimpered…then Sam thrust forward violently, taking his ass completely, filling him…then pulling out and slamming in again…After the third time, Sam gathered Dean up, pulling him upright so he could slip and arm around his chest. “So fucking hot, Dean.”

One hand held Dean tight against Sam’s chest, while the other stroked his cock in time to the strokes Sam’s cock was making deep inside him. Dean moaned, the pain building alongside the increasing pleasure as Sam’s new angle hit his prostrate on every single stroke…his kisses along Dean’s shoulder turned to bites…tiny nips, then harder…up to his ear. “Come for me, Dean..” And he bit, hard on the curve of his neck and the pain shot through him, into his cock like a lightening bolt and he came while Sam stroked him…milking the come from him until Dean whimpered. His cock was still hard, hot and sensitive and Sam’s big fingers scraped across it and he could feel Sam smiling into his back.

“Fuck.” 

“Oh yeah, baby.” Sam pushed him forward, face first into the bed and his thrusting came harder, deeper. Dean yelled out in pain, in heat as Sam’s giant hands pulled him back onto him, cutting into him, marking him with bruises Dean knew would last for days. “Mine, Dean…gonna make you mine.” His final thrust was deep, hard and Dean’s vision swam as his cock gamely tried to come again in time with the pulsing of Sam’s cock inside him. 

He was vaguely aware of Sam pulling out of him…of Sam tucking a blanket around him, then Sam was squatting beside the bed, all goofy grin and innocence. “You’re gonna want to sleep for a while, baby. And take care of that one bite mark when you wake up…” He licked his lips and Dean could only stare at him sleepily. “I’ll see you round.”

For a long minute Dean could only stare, and Sam’s eyes seemed to be…he blinked and Sam was gone and he was sure he’d dreamed the whole thing. Because that face was too pretty, and no one’s eyes were that black.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been snowing since he had gotten out of bed that afternoon, and hunting in the snow was not Dean Winchester’s idea of a good time. On top of that the ghost he was hunting was a slippery son of a bitch and digging the frozen Boston ground in the dark was just not happening.

Cussing under his breath, Dean threw his equipment into the Impala’s trunk and slipped on the icy pavement, catching his chin on the fender. “Fuck!”

The rearview mirror showed he’d bloodied his chin, not badly, but he cussed at it anyway. “Fuck I hate Boston.” He started the engine and pulled out of the cemetery. He was irritated, hungry, horny…It had been months since he’d had sex…since that one night stand with the overgrown puppy with a tongue like sin and a cock big enough to beg for. Not that he hadn’t thought about it, but no one had seemed appetizing since. He’d brought a girl back to his motel once, but couldn’t keep it up…and that never happened. After she left he’d gotten hard when he’d thought about Sam, but even then he couldn’t come.

He’d been busy, chasing down demons, ghosts and a poltergeist that was hell to exorcise, so he hadn’t thought much about it. But, as he headed out into the shopping district, his cock was hard and he was thinking that maybe he might find some pretty thing in one of the local joints to offer him a little relief.

He found a spot near one of the trendy chain places and parked, wiping his chin on his hand and running fingers through his hair before getting out of the car. The place was busy, filled with young people looking to hook up, looking for love or sex or something else. He made his way to the bar and ordered a beer before turning to survey the crowd. 

There were some hot prospects in sight, a tall, slender blonde in a skirt that barely covered her ass. The tall, lanky guy with shaggy hair and…wait. Dean stood and turned for a better look. “What are the odds?” he muttered to himself. While he watched, the man in question stood up from making his shot at the pool table and turned toward the bar. Dean almost ducked out of sight before chiding himself. He had nothing to hide from.

Those eyes met his, dark green and glittering and that smile…that innocent, knowing, you’ll-do-anything-for-me smile split his face and Dean could feel his cock respond. He didn’t move…couldn’t move as Sam crossed the room, coming to stand directly in his personal space, one arm on either side holding the bar. “Dean?”

“Sam?” Dean’s head was swirling with warning sounds and memory, _why is he here_ mixing with _fuck, yes, do that again_.

“This is strange.”

“I’ll say.” Dean shifted a little nervously, Sam too close,…too…He swallowed, blinking as Sam’s eye met his. “Funny, I remember your eyes being darker.” 

Sam smiled again. “It was dark…as I recall.” He stood back, as if sensing Dean’s discomfort. “Let me get you a drink.”

Dean chuckled. “Its my turn.” He pulled out his wallet and waved the bartender over. “Another of these, and one for my friend.” The bartender nodded and took Dean’s money. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were just trying to get me drunk so you could have your evil way with me,” he said with a smirk. 

Sam leaned in, his lips all but touching Dean’s ear. “I don’t need to get you drunk for that,” he whispered and Dean shivered. “If I told you to, you’d drop to your knees right now and suck me off.”

Dean turned to him, alarm bells sounding in his head, even as his knees trembled and he had the sudden desire to do just that, drop to his knees and feel the soft/hard touch of his cock on his tongue. His face paled, his heart was pounding, even as Sam leaned in past him to grab his beer. “Dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Sam said, laughing and Dean looked at him a moment longer like he was a dream or a vision or something, then he laughed too.

“No, no ghosts tonight.” He downed the last of his first beer and reached for his second. “What brings you to Boston?”

Sam rolled his eyes and leaned his long, lanky form against the bar beside Dean. “Family. My father’s birthday. What about you?”

Dean shrugged. “Business.”

Sam’s eyes narrow, as if sizing Dean up. “You never did tell me what it is you do…aside from collect scars from various…accidents.” He slid a finger under Dean’s chin, marking the most recent wound, eyed the blood then deliberately brought the finger to his mouth, sucking it clean.

Dean just about died, but hid it behind his beer. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Sam laughed, a deep, happy sound that made Dean’s stomach clench with desire to hear it over and over again. “Nah, man…nothing that exciting. I…travel a lot, take odd jobs where I can…when I have to.”

“Sounds lonely.” Sam’s finger moved to trace a line over Dean’s arm and for a moment, his whole consciousness narrowed down to that finger, the wetness from his mouth leaving a tingling trail.

“It’s…not so bad.” Dean said when he found his voice again. “It has its perks.” Sam’s eyes sparkled and Dean smiled. “Meet some…interesting people along the way.”

“Yeah, I’d imagine you do.” Sam swallowed his beer and surveyed the room. “Anyone interesting you see here?”

Dean followed his eyes, all the way over to the curvy blonde near the pool table Sam had been playing at. “Nah…nothing to take home to Mom.”

Sam chuckled and Dean looked hurt. “What?”

“You just don’t strike me as the kind who…takes girls home to meet the parents.”

Dean straightened up, turning to face Sam. “What? Not exactly marriage material?”

Sam’s smile lit up the room and Dean felt it in his gut. “Damn you’re pretty when you smile.”

“Did you just call me pretty?”

“Damn straight I did.” Dean tossed off the last of his beer and set the bottle on the bar. 

Sam leaned in close and grabbed Dean’s shirt, his mouth on his ear. “I’m going to fuck that smart ass little mouth of yours. Stay put, I’ll be right back.”

Sam disappeared into the crowd and Dean was so busy being dizzy and weak-kneed that it didn’t occur to him to move until Sam was back, his fist in Dean’s shirt, pulling him toward the front door and down to a black Mercedes before shoving him up against it, his mouth smothering Dean’s in a demanding kiss.

When he finally pulled back, it was only to unlock and open the door before shoving Dean into the car. “Watch your hands.”

“Where are we going?” Dean asked as Sam got in to the car and brought it to life, settling his right hand possessively on Dean’s knee.

Sam smiled at him and winked. “Someplace where I can get you naked and have my way with you.” His hand moved upward, across denim to the growing hardness in his groin. “I see you’re two steps ahead of me.”

“Only because I’ve been thinking about you since Georgia.”

“Really?”

Dean let out something between a chuckle and a grunt and shook his head. He hadn’t meant to say that. Something about this man put him off balance, something about his smile burned into him and he couldn’t think straight.

“I want to see you.”

“Right here, dude.”

“No…take your cock out. I want to see it.”

Before he could think about it, Dean found himself complying, unzipping his jeans and releasing his hard cock. Sam’s hand closed around it immediately, stroking it slightly. His eyes were dark when he looked at Dean, dark and Dean felt like he could get lost in those eyes…lost, damned…never come up for air.

Sam sped up, and they were leaving downtown behind, off into one of the posher parts of town. “You like that baby?” Sam’s hand stroked down, his long fingers fondling Dean’s balls as Dean sucked in a breath. 

“Fuck, yeah.”

“Almost there.”

“Yeah…” Dean’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Oh, no, not you…not yet.” Sam pulled his hand back, spun the car around and into park before climbing up to kneel on his seat, his mouth claiming Dean’s while he pumped his fist over his cock. ‘No…not yet…” 

Sam pushed Dean’s door open and climbed out over him, pulling him from the car by the cock as Dean whimpered. “Fuck…I’m so close…so…”

Sam towered over him, holding his cock tight in his hand. “You come when I say, Dean. Rules.”

“Rules.” Dean breathed, shaking. The cold air reached him, his exposed skin and he shivered. 

Sam smiled, cold…his eyes nearly black. “Yes Dean, rules. Come on now…” He kicked the car door closed and pulled on Dean’s dick, drawing him up to the house. He opened a side door and led Dean in and up a flight of stairs and into a spacious room. “Get naked.”

Sam let go of him and walked away, discarding clothes as he went. When he returned a few moments later, he wore only a pair of silk boxers. Dean had hardly moved. “I said, naked Dean.”

Dean started, looked up at him. He felt lost, not sure how he’d gotten where he was. “I’m in control, remember Dean?”

“Yeah…I remember.”

“Good boy…now take off those clothes.”

Sam crossed to a table near a fireplace and pressed a button on an intercom. “Hey, James. I want some beer and a bottle of Jack in my room.”

Dean looked around him while he pulled his clothes off. The fireplace dominated one wall of the room, with a black leather couch and two big arm chairs creating a cozy little spot in front of it. On the other side of the room, up three shallow steps a king size bed waited, four posters of mahogany holding up black curtains and a canopy. “Do you need help with that?”

Sam was suddenly in front of him, his hands pushing Dean’s shirt up over his head, tangling the fabric in his arms and holding them tight. Dean struggled against him, against the confinement, but as Sam’s eyes met his, he could feel the fight drain away…”Kiss me Dean.” Sam whispered and it was pure demand, filled with lust and desire and Dean didn’t even offer a token resistance, opening his mouth as their lips met in invitation.

Somewhere inside of him, Dean knew something wasn’t right. Years of training, conditioning, hunting…all of it screamed at him to get out, but his cock was hard and screaming for release…and it was just sex…just mindless…sex….and he was on his knees in front of Sam, those impossibly large hands holding his hands behind his head, still all tangled up in the worn gray t-shirt. Dean’s mouth opened without question and Sam’s cock, beautiful and hard, touched his lip…and Dean wasn’t sure how or why, but he knew that if he tongued the slit, Sam would moan…and when he closed his mouth over just the head and sucked hard, Sam would thrust forward for more.

After the first few seconds though, all notion of technique flew out the window, as Sam’s hand took the back of his head and pulled him forward as his hips thrust into him deeper. Dean gagged a little, opening his throat as much as he could as Sam shoved in harder. “That’s it Dean…Damn…fuck…”

Dean was vaguely aware of a door opening and someone entering the room, but Sam was demanding with hips and hands and cock and then Dean was swallowing just to keep from drowning and Sam was groaning and coming and Dean swayed as Sam released him. Dean opened his eyes slowly, finally able to finish shrugging out of his shirt as Sam padded away on the carpet to a side table where a silver tray held a bucket of iced beer and a bottle of Jack Daniels with two glasses. 

“Thirsty Dean?” Sam held up a bottle of beer and Dean nodded slowly. 

Hot, salty come burned in his belly as he climbed to his feet. There was something very not right here. Sam smiled at him, popping open two of the beers. What could possibly be wrong when that boy smiled that way? Dean shook his head to clear it, feeling Sam press a bottle into his hand. “Drink up, baby…I’ve got plans for you tonight.”

As if to emphasize his point, Sam’s hand, cold from the beer, wrapped around Dean’s cock and stroked him once, twice…and Dean had to steady himself on Sam’s shoulder. “Please.”

Sam looked at him curiously. “Please what Dean?”

“I—God—I need to…”

“What do you need, Dean?” Sam set his beer down and turned so he was squarely facing, Dean, his cock in one hand. “Tell me.”

Dean shuddered. His cock leaked pre-come and he felt as though he could explode just from Sam’s voice. “Sam…I need…”

“Do you need me to let you come, Dean?”

Dean collapsed against Sam, his head on Sam’s shoulder as he thrust his hips trying to find more friction in Sam’s hand. “Yeah…yeah…need to…”

“Has anyone touched you Dean? Anyone since me?”

Dean shook his head miserably against Sam’s skin. “No…no…couldn’t…”

Sam stroked harder and Dean whimpered into Sam’s chest. “Of course you couldn’t. I told you, you come when I tell you.”

Dean thrust harder as Sam’s hand closed even tighter around him. “Because you belong to me, Dean, don’t you?”

Dean groaned something that could have been agreement, but Sam’s hand stopped, squeezing his cock until Dean lifted his head in question. “Answer me Dean.” Dean swallowed, his eyes glazed over as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to say. “You belong to me Dean. Say it.”

Dean nodded, his jaw clenching. “Yes, Sam…yes…I’m yours…just please…please.”

Sam smiled, pulling Dean closer and resuming his stroking. “That’s it baby…come for me.” Dean’s orgasm came hard, his knees buckling as his body shook and Sam eased him down to the floor. “Easy…Easy.” Sam stroked Dean’s hair as he came down, gentle, soft touches. “The night is young…I plan on seeing how many times I can make you do that tonight.” Sam whispered. “And in the morning we’ll see if you can even remember your name.”


	4. Chapter 4

There was a buzzing in his ears…the kind that came when he’d had a bit too much to drink, but he’d only had the one beer. He lay, sprawled out on the king size bed, exhausted. He’d lost count of the hours…and the number of times he’d come at Sam’s hands or mouth…or that one time, just his voice and breath…Dean had never been so sated as he was at that moment.

Sam lay, his head on Dean’s stomach, cataloguing the numerous scars on Dean’s chest. “This one?” he asked as he pressed his lips against a spot just below his right nipple. 

“Gun shot.” Dean replied lazily, his hand swiping over the place. “Well…it was…I was twelve, and I was lucky.” He had been lucky the bullet had torn through a wall before it hit him, lucky his father knew how to drive, lucky all the way around.

“I don’t know if that’s exactly luck.”

Sam’s fingers continued their exploration, finding yet another mark, tracing it out slowly. “This?”

Dean had to think about it. “Um, shovel, I think. No, that this one.” His fingers marked a thin line a few inches from the one Sam fingered. “Knife.”

Sam sat up enough to look at his face. “No one is this accident prone.” Dean only smiled in return. 

“Rough neighborhood.”

“Okay, this one?” Sam’s hand found their way south, to a scar that ran from his navel , off to his right hip. It was thin and scarcely visible, but sensitive fingers marked it easily enough.

Dean inhaled sharply. That one he didn’t like to talk about. “Demon.” He said it without thinking, without realizing he had. 

“Did you say demon?” Sam asked. 

Fuck. Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. I did. This guy…thought he was a demon. Sliced up a bunch of people. I got in his way.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked pain.” Sam rolled up so that he was partially across Dean’s chest. “I think maybe you like experiences that leave a mark on you.”

Dean’s sharp, shuddering intake of breath was the only response, and Sam’s smile was slow, wicked. “Do you Dean? Do you enjoy a little pain? A little blood?”

Damn but his cock was perking up. Again. “Do you?” Sam demanded, his hands sliding up Dean’s arms, pinning him in place. 

“Yeah…sort of…” Dean’s voice was breathy, nervous. Sam licked a long line up from his navel to his chin before moving to straddle him, his hands circling Dean’s wrists. Dean struggled against him, but more for show than in an actual attempt to escape. He was too wiped out to give it honest effort…and while he thought that should frighten him, he was too distracted by Sam’s lips on his to pay attention.

There was a soft snick of a sound and Sam’s hands slid down Dean’s, leaving Dean with his hands above his head. “Mine…all mine…” Sam murmured as he ground his hips against Dean’s, rubbing his naked cock along Dean’s and damn if it didn’t work at getting hard again. 

“Sam.” Dean groaned. “I can’t…no more…”

“Yes you can, baby…trust me…I haven’t begun to push you yet.” 

Dean tried to move his arms to push Sam away and only then realized that soft snick had been the sound of handcuffs. “Sam.” His voice was dark, almost pained.

Sam’s finger came up to press against Dean’s lips. “Shh…Don’t make me have to gag that pretty mouth.”

Dean pulled his head up with effort, starring down at the bigger man who was kissing his way down to Dean’s half-hard cock. Dean jumped as his tongue slid over the super sensitive skin. Sam smiled at the reaction, wrapping a large hand…too hard…too rough…around him and stroking while he moved, nudging Dean’s legs apart. Dean hissed and bucked his hips, half to get away from the rough hand, half to try to stroke himself to hardness in Sam’s hand. 

“Easy…let me…” Sam whispered, letting go of him to move his legs further apart, positioning himself, his cock hard and leaking. “Damn, Dean…you look so fucking hot…” There was no need for lube, not when Dean’s ass was still open from their last go round and Sam wasted no time with prep before slamming himself up inside of him, making Dean cry out. “I should keep you right here….never let you go.”

Sam kissed him then, his mouth devouring, his tongue invading Dean’s mouth hard and hot and Dean whimpered when he pulled away. Sam thrust into him, deep and stopped, holding himself inside Dean’s ass as he turned Dean’s face so that he was looking into his eyes. “Mine?”

Dean nodded, biting his lip…beyond words. Something cold slid across his shoulder…cold, then sharp and Dean hissed inward as Sam moved slowly out of him, then just as violently back inside, holding again as he dragged the knife over Dean’s skin. Sam held the knife so that the point was in the center of Dean’s chest, his fingers sliding lovingly over the handle. “Mine?” he asked again and Dean felt his skin erupt in fire all around the point…fire that shot through him and into his groin.

“Yeah…yeah…fuck…”

Sam thrust a little deeper, his eyes intent on Dean’s face. “Say it Dean.”

“Fuck.”

Sam smiled, but it was dark. “Say it Dean.”

“I’m yours Sam. Please.”

“Please what Dean?”

Dean’s head was swimming. He couldn’t say it…couldn’t….fuck. Sam moved again, three rough thrusts into his already well-fucked ass and then, slowly, on his upstroke, dragged the point of the knife over Dean’s skin. “Please what?”

“Fuck Sam….fuck…”

“Already doing that baby…what else?” The point bit in just a little and Dean could hear tiny guttural sounds escaping him.

His cock was pressed between them, on fire and desperate, pain and pleasure and intensity he had never felt. He panted and pulled on his hands, frantic to touch…to push or pull or anything for more…”Tell me, Dean.” Sam’s voice was low, soft, commanding. 

Fuck…Dean hitched his hips under him, pressing his cock against the pan of muscle that was Sam’s stomach. Sam pulled out of him and slammed in again, hard, harder than before and Dean saw stars. “Tell me what you want.”

“Cut…cut me.” Dean gasped out finally. “Fuck, cut me…I need…”

Sam slid the knife over the plane of Dean’s stomach, all flat and tip and flat and tip up over his nipples. Dean whimpered as Sam fucked him slowly, leaving long white stripes from the knife. “Say it again.”

“Fuck…Sam….Sammy, cut me….”

Then the blade was on the tender skin of his arm, Sam’s lips on his ear. “Come for me Dean…bleed for me…” The blade sliced across his bicep and Dean arched up off the bed, his cock screaming in pain and release as he came again. Sam’s lips wandered to the bleeding wound, his tongue licking the thin line as he fucked Dean slowly “Taste so fucking good…could just drink you forever…”

“Sam…god…”

Sam pushed Dean’s legs up, and picked up his pace, sweat dripping off him onto Dean’s chest as he pulled Dean by the hips onto him. Dean could hear tiny sounds, whimpering moans and on some level was aware they were coming from him. He didn’t think he could take much more. Then Sam shoved in and shuddered, coming deep inside him and for a moment Dean felt more filled, more comforted, more… _home_ than he could remember. Then Sam was collapsing beside him, kissing him obscenely. “I have it on pretty good authority, that god has nothing to do with it,” he whispered, sliding hands up to undo the cuffs.

“Sam…I…”

“Shh…baby…sleep.” His hands slid over Dean’s eyes, down his cheeks and lips. “Sleep…you’ve earned it.” Dean murmured unintelligibly and drifted, sated beyond anything he’d ever felt, his body heavy and pulling him under.

When he was good and out, Sam sighed and climbed out of the bed, padding over to the door and opening it with a smile. An older man, broad shouldered and slightly gray at the temples slid into the room, his eyes scanning over Dean’s sleeping form. “Don’t worry…he won’t be awake for a few hours.”

“Did you get what you wanted?”

Sam smiled and turned to look at his prize. “Not yet…but I’m nearly there. He let me cut him. It won’t be long now.”

The man nodded and turned to look at Sam. “Good. The sooner the better. I don’t like this little seduction game you’ve got going.”

Sam laughed. “You don’t have to, do you? He does.” 

“Take a shower. You smell like sex.”

“Maybe you should try it some time.” Sam said with a grin. 

“Just get results.” 

“I always do, _Dad_.” As the door closed behind him, Sam smiled and poured himself a shot of Jack. “I always do.”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean drifted back to consciousness with the smell of coffee and bacon and the ringing of his cell phone. He felt something heavy hit him and opened his eyes to see his jeans on his chest. “Your pants are ringing.”

He sat up enough to see Sam smiling at him while he fumbled for the pocket that held his phone. “Yeah?” His father’s voice was a welcome sound after three months apart with little contact. “Hey Dad. No…still in Boston. No.” He shifted uncomfortably, the aches and pains starting to make themselves known. “There were…complications.” His ass throbbed as he moved to sit up, and there was a bandage on his left arm. The last bit of the night before came back in a rush and he blushed. “No, I’ll get it done tonight. Don’t worry.” 

Sam waved a cup of coffee in his direction and Dean nodded. “Look Dad, I’ll call you later, okay? There’s something I need to take care of.” Dean closed the phone and put it back in his pocket before rubbing a hand over his face. “Damn.”

Sam smiled at him, that brilliant, innocent, happy smile. “A little sore?”

Dean snorted and cracked his neck. “You have no idea.”

“Come eat. I had the kitchen bring up some of everything, cause I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

“I’m not much of a breakfast person.” Dean said, though his growling stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten much the day before and the bacon really did smell good. He stood slowly, testing protesting muscles. 

Sam came toward him, wrapped in a silk robe and handing him a cup of coffee before slipping his arms around his waist and kissing him soundly. Dean groaned as the silk rubbed across his sore cock. “You have to eat…after everything I put you through last night.” Sam said, nuzzling his neck before stepping back and padding back to the low table near the couch. It was filled with plates of bacon and sausage and eggs, fresh fruit and breads and Dean’s stomach growled again.

He took a sip of the coffee and followed, half-conscious that he was still very naked. “That was your father?” Sam asked as Dean sat on the other end of the couch, snagging a piece of bacon as he went.

“Hmm?”

“The phone.”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean swallowed the bacon. “Checking in, making sure I’m still alive and kicking.”

“Yeah, if I had a son as accident prone as you, I’d check in too.”

Dean smiled and reached for more, loading up a plate with several sausage and more bacon. “We take care of one another.”

Sam drank from his coffee cup and watched Dean eat, and Dean suddenly felt very self-conscious. “So…about…” Sam’s hand was on his knee and Dean exhaled heavily. “Last night was…”

“Unbelievable.” Sam supplied. “Fuck…you came ten times. Most I’ve ever done is 5.”

Dean coughed a little and blushed again. “I won’t be able to get it up for a month.” 

Sam’s smile turned devilish. “I’m sure it won’t take that long.”

Dean held up a hand. “No, seriously. No. I might break.”

Sam pouted at him, but pulled his hand away. “Wouldn’t want that…would we?” He paced away and fiddled around with something on the mantle over the fireplace. 

“If I ever want to have sex again?” Dean finished off his sausage and rose stiffly. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He crossed to where Sam was standing and put his head on Sam’s shoulder. “And it occurs to me that I don’t even know your last name…or where we are.”

Sam turned and pulled him closer, kissing him and turning them so that Dean’s back was against the wall. “Does it matter?” he asked when he pulled back. 

Dean shook his head, his eyes working to focus on Sam’s face. “I suppose not…” Sam kissed him again, his tongue sweeping over Dean’s, his hand moving to cup his cock. It struggled to respond, despite the soreness. “Please. I…”

“Need a shower.” Sam whispered, his lips smiling against Dean’s shoulder. “Seriously. Through there.” He pointed with the lifting of his chin, then stopped back to give Dean room. “It will make you feel better.”

“Yeah. That sounds good.” Dean gave same half smile and gestured toward the door. “In there?”

Sam swatted him on the ass as he went. “There’s clean towels on the counter. I can have Isabella re-dress the wound when you’re done.”

Dean sighed a little in relief as he started the shower in what had to be the biggest bathroom he had ever seen. Leave it to him to fall in with a rich kid who had no clue what the real world was about. His best bet was to beat a quick retreat, get back to his car and get back to work…if he could even get his body to function enough to dig a grave. 

He peeled off the bandage, lifting his arm to examine the thin slice in his arm. It wasn’t bad, wouldn’t require stitches or anything, but he was stupid for allowing it to happen. Sam was more perceptive than most, and he was going to have to be more careful.

What was he thinking? He got into the shower and let the water beat on his back, over achy muscles and tried to ignore the fact the position he had let himself get into just because the boy had a pretty face…and those eyes…and hands…Dean shook himself before he could wax poetic about Sam’s other features. 

This was it. He was going to burn the bones of the fucking pyromaniac of a ghost and beat it the hell out of Boston, meet up with his old man and move on. He’d likely never see Sam again. God knows if he did…it might literally be the death of him. “No more pretty boys for you,” he said, looking down at his red, aching cock. 

When he emerged from the bathroom, Sam was partially dressed, in well pressed dress pants, but nothing else. “I feel so under dressed.” Dean quipped, in his towel. 

Sam smiled and waved a hand at the clothes laid out on the bed. “I have an interview at Harvard today. Law school. Mostly a formality…but one has to keep up appearances.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “More college? Wasn’t Stanford enough for you?”

Sam chuckled. “I hated Stanford. I’ll probably hate Harvard too…but it’s the best education money can buy…and I only want the best. In everything.” 

Dean fished around the room for his clothes, coming up with everything but his socks and underwear. “I think I liked the towel better.” Sam said as Dean finished zipping his jeans.

“Yeah? I think I liked you without the pants myself.”

“How’s the arm?”

Dean held up the arm and looked again. “It’s fine. Should heal nicely.”

“Do you want me to—“

“No.” Dean shook his head. “Its probably better left to the air.”

Sam shrugged into his shirt, buttoning it slowly. “So tell me Dean…how long are you here in Boston?”

Dean inhaled sharply and looked away from the toned chest slowly disappearing under cotton. “I should be heading out tonight…tomorrow at the latest. I have a little business to finish.”

“An…odd job?” Sam asked, his face reflecting curiosity.

“Yeah, something like that. I need to finish it up and head on up to Boise. There’s a little job waiting for me there.”

“Boise? That doesn’t sound like fun.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Dean said, standing to tuck in his t-shirt.

“Well, if you finish early, there’s a party tonight. My father’s birthday. I’d love if you would come.” His eyes flashed at Dean’s crotch on the last word and he smirked.

Dean laughed and reached for his shoes. “Yeah, I’m sure you would.” He stood stretching. “I wouldn’t have anything to wear to something like that. I’d be really out of place.”

Sam nodded, finishing off his tie. “Okay. Fair enough. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

There was a knock at the door and a woman in uniform opened the door. “Beg pardon, Sir. Your car is ready.”

“Thank you Casia. I’ll be along in a moment.” He turned back to Dean. “I hope you don’t mind, I’m going to have to have one of our drivers take you back to your car. I’m running incredibly late.”

“No, I don’t mind.” 

Sam kissed him deeply. “Mine,” he whispered and Dean shivered. “Until the next time our paths cross, Dean. Casia will show you to the car.”

Dean nodded, licking his lips, savoring the taste as she the maid led him down the same side staircase they had climbed the night before and out to a shaded driveway where a limousine waited. The chauffer held the door and Dean climbed in almost hesitantly. “Nice ride.”

“Yes sir.”

Dean settled in to the supple leather seat and the door closed. This was the kind of luxury he had never even dreamed about in his craziest days…when the hunting drove him crazy and he wanted the lives he saw other people living…even then he couldn’t imagine servants who brought food to his room, or drove him to meetings or…servants who had seen Dean on his knees sucking Sam’s cock…had bandaged the wounds he had asked Sam to give him. 

Sloppy. The boy had addled him, made him messy and easy and damn but he was good at what he did. It had thrown him, seeing Sam again. Thrown him so much that he fell. No one had ever thrown him like that, reduced him to begging…begging to be fucked…to be allowed to come…begging to be cut so that he could come one final time. 

Dean shook his head. He’d never been in a place like he’d been last night. Never knew he could…He sighed and let his head fall back against the seat. What was it about him? The smile. Dean decided that it was the smile that did him in. Cut right through him like diamonds and left him open and oozing and vulnerable.

Which of course meant he had to end it. No one made Dean Winchester a puppy begging…at least he never did it twice.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean groaned with the effort it took to haul himself out of the Impala. The night was still young, barely 8 pm and he had managed to salt and burn the bones of the fire-happy ghost, fill in the grave and drag his aching body back to the motel. His phone rang and he flipped it open while pulling the bag of cheap food from the passenger seat. “Dad. Yeah, sorry. I got busy.”

He juggled the phone and bag while unlocking his door. “No, its done. Damn thing nearly torched my car…but its done.” He stepped into the motel, instantly on guard as something seemed out of place. “What? No…I’ve got a line on something in Boise.”

He put the bag down and swept his eyes around the room…coming to rest on the bed. “Okay, I can wait here. I’m at a motel on the east side of town.”

Dean shook his head as he walked toward the bed. The room had a familiar smell…something…Sam. It smelled like Sam. “When?” His father had reason to believe the demon, the one that had sent them into this crazy life, was there in Boston. “Okay, I’ll see you in a few days.”

Dean hung up the phone and picked up the note that waited atop a dark suit which was laid out on the bed. “Come for me…Sam,” was all it said, and Dean shook his head. His body, on the other hand came to complete attention, his cock stiffening, his ass clenching in anticipation. The back of the note held the address.

Dean shook his head and lifted the suit. He wasn’t surprised to find it was exactly his size, and he was struck with the image of Sam having one of his servants measure him while he slept. He blushed at the thought and dropped the suit back onto the bed before locking the door and stripping off his muddy clothes and headed for the shower. It was nowhere as nice as the one Sam had, but the water was hot and it pulled the cold from his bones.

Of course, he wasn’t going. Even though he was stuck waiting for his father…and had nothing better to do. It was a crazy idea. It wasn’t like he could even think about sex. Though his cock was trying to. No. Dean was definitely done with Sam. Suit or no suit.

When the water began to run cold, he got out, wrapping himself in a towel. It was a little creepy, if he let himself think about it. He didn’t remember telling Sam where he was staying…or what his last name was. Dean sank down on the bed and lifted the note again, his finger tracing the words. The smell of Sam clung to the paper and Dean found himself holding the note up to his nose, then shook his head. No. Just no.

_Come for me…Sam._

Before Dean was even aware of his actions, he was half dressed in the suit. It was insane. He craved Sam’s smile, Sam’s touch. Two nights. Two nights they’d been together, and he didn’t understand why he felt so compelled, but no matter what his head said, his body was shoving his feet into his boots, hoping no one would notice them and slipping into the jacket that fit like it had been made for him. He paced around the crappy hotel room for ten minutes, arguing with himself, but ultimately he gave in, grabbed the keys and the note and headed out.

The hotel was easy enough to find, the party even more so as it spilled out of the ballroom. Dean was uneasy as he let the Impala go in the hands of a valet and followed the sounds of the band. He was swallowed up in the crowd almost as soon as he cleared the doors, his eyes sweeping around him for Sam. Ten minutes. He told himself. Ten minutes and if he hadn’t found Sam, he’d leave. 

“Dean!” 

He turned, instantly blinded and immobile in the light of Sam’s smile, released only when Sam’s arms folded around him. “I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah…well…couldn’t let a good suit go to waste.”

Sam released him, his green eyes sweeping over the suit, though Dean got the impression he wasn’t seeing the fabric as much as what lay underneath it. “Did you get your job done?”

Dean nodded and swiped a passing glass of champagne. “Yes, I did.” He sipped on the champagne. “This is some party.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “The old man has a thing for big shows. Most of these people work for him or with him or something.” He turned Dean toward a table near the front of the room. “Come on over, I’ll introduce you.”

Dean drank the champagne down and dropped the glass on a table as he moved through the crowd with Sam’s hand on his back almost possessively. “Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet someone.” Sam said as they stopped in front of the table. A graying man who still looked like he could kick some serious ass looked up from his cocktail and eyed Dean before reaching for the hand of a seriously hot woman who must be Sam’s mother. “This is Dean. Dean, my parentals…John and Mary.”

Dean swallowed hard and looked at him sharply. “Did you say…John and Mary?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Dean. We’ve heard a lot about you.” Mary said, reaching her hand out for Dean’s. 

“Um…yeah?” Dean took her hand, his stomach turning. She looked nothing like his mother…what he remembered of his mother…but the coincidence had him uneasy. “I have to say, Sam hasn’t mentioned you all that much.”

She smiled and Dean found himself watching her hand as it stroked over her highly visible cleavage. “That’s our boy…”

“Mother, please. Let’s not get into the embarrassment just yet.”

“Speaking of which, let’s not have a scene here tonight okay, Sam?” his father said, drawing Dean’s attention back to him.

“Of course not. Dean’s here to keep me entertained. Your friends are boring.”

“Kaitlin is going to be here,” the older man offered, raising his drink again. “She reportedly is ready to forgive you for the debacle at Christmas.”

Sam rolled his eyes and moved his hand from Dean’s back to his hand. “I’m sure she is. Too bad I’m not interested anymore. Come on Dean, let’s dance.”

“Dance? No. Really. I don’t—“

Sam pulled him away and toward the dance floor, pressing their bodies close together. “Lighten up. We only have to make a show of things for a little while.” Sam said as Dean tried to mimic his movements and keep from landing on his ass.

“Sam…I don’t dance.”

“Obviously.”

“Could we…sit this one out?”

“I could use a drink.”

Dean nodded, relieved as Sam lead him from the dance floor and toward the bar. Sam ordered them both a beer, then turned to sweep his eyes over Dean once more. Dean’s eyes were on his parents, his mind turning, trying to place the panic swelling inside of him. “I was adopted.” Sam said in his ear, interrupting his thoughts. 

“What?” Dean took his beer from him and leaned back against the bar. 

“You were looking at them trying to find the family resemblance. There isn’t any.”

“No…I…it’s just weird.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. “What is?”

Dean shook his head. He couldn’t…he’d already come so close to blowing everything. “Your parents…My…my mother’s name was Mary.”

“Was?” Sam took a swig off his beer and moved a little closer.

“Yeah…she died when I was a kid.”

Sam’s hand stroked down his cheek, a comforting, and uncomfortably arousing gesture and Dean turned to him. “My father’s name is John.”

Sam smiled. “Weird.”

“Yeah.” Dean shook his head to clear it. “He’s coming to Boston. My father I mean. That’s why I’m still here.”

“Oh, its not just cause you wanted one more night with me?” Sam asked, his face painted with mock hurt. “When’s he getting here?”

Dean shook his head. “What, want to know how long you can keep my tied to your bed?” Dean asked with a smirk. Not that he planned on letting that actually happen. This game had gone far enough already. “Couple of days, maybe less knowing how he drives.”

There was quiet for a minute between them, a moment Dean took to drink his beer and think about ways to get out of the loud room filled with strangers…a moment Sam took to sneak a hand down Dean’s thigh. “Want to go someplace more quiet?” Sam finally asked and Dean shook his head lightly.

“I really need a good night’s sleep, Sam.”

“I think I know what you need, baby.” Sam nuzzled his neck while his hand cupped his crotch, his fingers stroking him until Dean groaned. “See…Let me take care of you Dean. Let me make you feel good.”

Dean closed his eyes, willing his cock to go down, to stop responding to the subtle touch, but he was already moving away from the bar. Sam leaned in and kissed him, his teeth nipping at Dean’s lips. “Sam.” Dean breathed.

“Come with me.” Sam’s hand closed over Dean’s and they were out in the lobby. A few minutes later, Dean found himself in an elevator, pressed up against the wall while Sam kissed him and stroked him to hardness. “Told you it wouldn’t take a week.” Sam hissed as his kiss wandered off of Dean’s lips and down his neck. 

“This is crazy, Sam.”

“I know.” Out of the elevator, Sam half pulled, half cajoled Dean down the hallway to a room. Once inside, Sam pushed Dean against the door, his hands pushing the jacket off before grabbing the tie to pull him across the room. “You’re all I can think about Dean. I want to touch you, taste you…fuck you…all the time.” Sam threw him to the bed. “I’m tired of screwing around.” Sam straddled over him, pulling at his clothes until he had exposed Dean’s chest. 

“Is that what we’ve been doing, Sam? Screwing around?”

Sam’s smile was vicious. “Time is running out Dean.”

“Time for what?” Dean pushed up on his elbows and looked up into Sam’s face. “What are you talking about?”

Sam shook his head. “No…you wouldn’t believe me. Let’s forget it. I just want to touch you.” His hands caressed Dean’s chest, rubbing down to his stomach and back. When his hands closed on his fly, Dean scooted backward, pushing Sam back.

“Tell me what’s going on.” His tone was harsh, but he softened it with a hand cupped to Sam’s cheek. “You’re scaring me.”

Sam sat back and gave Dean room to sit up. He shook his head and looked down at his hands. “Strange things have always happened around me, Dean. I see things other people don’t. I have dreams…I dreamed about you for a week before we met. My mother used to say it happened for a reason. That I was meant to do something…to be something.” 

Dean caressed his cheek, turned his face up to meet his eyes. “It’s okay Sam. You can trust me.” 

Sam chuckled a little at that. “I hardly know you Dean. I mean…I can’t believe how much I want you…but I don’t know you.”

“Funny thing is…I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.” Dean said softly, taking Sam’s hand in his. 

“You’re going to think I’m crazy.” Sam shook his head again, looking at Dean out of the corner of his eyes. “But…okay…I’m just going to say it. There’s…a…demon.” He looked at Dean, like he was sure Dean was going to start laughing. When he didn’t, Sam swallowed. “He…It…well, it’s coming. It’s coming for me.”

Dean’s face was tight, serious as he squeezed Sam’s hand. “When?”

Sam turned back to him, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What? You believe me?”

Dean smiled and nodded. “Yeah. When?”

Sam exhaled slowly. “I don’t really know. Soon. I’ve been dreaming about it for days.” 

Dean leaned forward to kiss him, lightly at first, then more deeply as Sam melted under his touch, and they ended up laying side by side. “Tell me everything. This is what I do, Sam. I hunt demons, my father and I, we protect people just like you.”

Sam blinked back tears and caressed Dean’s face. “There’s fire…always fire. Some man I think I should know, tall, dark hair…he’s dying…then It comes. Tells me I can save him. All I have to do is take his place.”

“Do you know where?”

Sam shook his head. “No, I always wake up when the fire takes me.”

Dean kissed him again, his tongue caressing Sam’s lips until he opened them, inviting. “It won’t get you…I promise.” Dean whispered. 

“How can you…I mean, it’s a demon, Dean.”

Dean took Sam’s hand and kissed the palm, then slid it down to the scar on his lower stomach. “So was this one. It got sent back to hell on the end of my knife,” he whispered. “I can handle this one too.” His lips burned as they kissed over Sam’s jaw. Sam shook a little in his arms and Dean ached with how tender he suddenly seemed. 

The Sam he knew had always been strong, in control and Dean knew only one way to get him back to that. He licked his way up to Sam’s ear and whispered, “I want to taste you. I want to come for you.”

Dean started undoing Sam’s tie, slightly surprised that Sam let him. He made sure to touch him, his face, his hair, each inch of skin he exposed as the unbuttoned the crisply pressed dress shirt. Sam lay back, his hands tucked under his head as Dean continued to undress him. His cock was hard by the time Dean got there. Dean pulled Sam’s pants down, then off, taking his shoes at the same time. “Damn, Sam…look at you…”

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was deep, husky, and when he licked his lips, Dean nearly came in his pants. 

Dean crawled up his body to kiss him. “What baby? Tell me what you want me to do. I’m yours…all yours….tell me.”

Sam grabbed the back of his head, his fingers pulling on the short hair. His face was suddenly fierce. “I want your mouth on my cock…I want to come in your mouth…now…” Dean grinned and let Sam’s hand guide him back down to where his cock was curved upward, the head swollen and begging for attention. Dean licked around the head until Sam hissed and his hand pulled him down. “Now…Dean…now…”

Dean opened his mouth and let him slide up into him…closing his mouth around him once he was fully inside and slowly sucked his way back to the tip, making Sam arch up off the bed and moan. Then his hand was pushing and Dean took the hint, opening his throat as much as he could and letting Sam thrust upward. “Fuck…Dean…hot…fuck.”

Sam’s hands both fisted in his hair and he shouted as he came quickly, forcing Dean to swallow hard and fast. Sam pulled him up with the same grip in his hair, rolling them until Sam was on top, straddling Dean before claiming his mouth with a fervor that bruised. “Wanna fuck you…wanna taste you and keep you hard for me forever. Wanna hear you scream my name.” Sam whispered over Dean’s skin, each word like a touch. He kissed down Dean’s chest, down to the scar that ran from his navel off to his side, the mark of a demon.

Sam’s eyes were dark as he looked up at Dean just before closing his mouth over the start of the scar and slowly sucked his way down its length. It shouldn’t have been so fucking erotic, but Dean’s cock twitched with each movement. “Wanna taste your come and your blood. Wanna feel your cock. Wanna touch every inch of you and make you so hard for me it hurts us both.”

“Already there, baby.” Dean murmured. Sam worked at his pants down, turning away long enough to get rid of the boots and pants and run his hands back up Dean’s legs.

“Wanna tie you down and give you what you need.” He grasped Dean’s cock roughly and stroked it once. Dean’s eyes rolled closed. The skin on his dick was sore, dry…but the feeling of Sam taking possession of it was everything he wanted right that moment. 

Suddenly, Sam lay across him, his face beside Dean’s. “Are you mine, Dean?” His eyes were so dark they seemed black and Dean shivered beneath him.

“Yours, Sammy…yours. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Anything?” Sam smiled down at him as Dean swallowed and nodded.

“Anything.”

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.” Lips and teeth, tongue over unshaved skin down to Dean’s throat, biting just hard enough that Dean ached for more. Sam’s hands moved Dean’s arms up over his head. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.” Sam whispered as he closed a cuff over Dean’s wrist. He snapped the next cuff over the other and kissed and nipped his way back down the sensitive underside of the arm. 

“Sam.” Dean gasped it, his hips thrusting in search of something, anything to rub against. 

“Not yet…I’ll make it good I promise.” Sam’s hands were like fire tracing scars and lines of muscle, touching…searing his flesh everywhere but where Dean needed them most. “The next time you come for me baby everything changes…” Tongue…following fingers, over his thighs, and Dean was suddenly aware of a pattern building…symbols that tingled on his skin as Sam’s tongue moved over them…

His legs were lifted, separated and Sam was kneeling between them. Dean looked up through the haze of desire and lust, and Sam’s mouth was moving…words without sounds…his eyes opened and Dean started. “No..” He pulled against the cuffs. “Sam…no…please!”

The knife in his hands was large, ornate…a ritual blade and Dean couldn’t move, couldn’t breath as it came down slowly, moving casually almost to his navel. Sam’s cock invaded him as the knife carved into his flesh, tracing the long scar, opening it as though it had never healed, before moving to create a matching one on his left side. Dean’s vision swam, the blood pooling along the cuts, even as Sam’s fucked him. The sensations were overpowering. He belatedly understood the blade had been drugged…Sam’s hands pressed against the wounds, then moved to Dean’s cock, still hard and aching and ready to blow. The heat of his own blood soaked into his cock as Sam’s mouth kept moving, Latin flowing into Dean’s head as the room spun and he lost himself inside the need of his body to please…to serve…

“Sam…” he said it weakly, the last offering of resistance. 

“Come for me, Dean. Give yourself over to it…I promise it will feel so good.”

Dean’s body gave in for him, tilting his hips so that Sam penetrated still deeper and his cock slid harder in his hands. “Scream for me.” Sam whispered and Dean could hear his voice screaming Sam’s name as his cock spewed come into his wounds and Sam thrust still harder into him. As Sam groaned and came inside him, Dean’s eyes closed and he fell into the dark.

Sam was panting with the exertion as he pulled himself up and off of Dean. “Got you now.” He fumbled for his pants and pulled out a cell phone. “He’s on his way to Boston now. I’ve done my part. Make sure you have your part done. This time John Winchester won’t be getting away.”


	7. Chapter 7

Morning came heavily, falling out of dreams of Sam’s eyes black as night, of power flowing through him and into Dean and dropping into the pillow softness of a bed that was nothing like his usual motel room mattress. Sam spooned up behind him, his body warm, his cock between Dean’s cheeks, his arm draped possessively over Dean’s chest. It felt like home, and despite a desperate need to pee, Dean didn’t want to move.

Sam groaned behind him, pulling him closer as if sensing Dean’s thoughts about getting up. For the moment, Dean was content to lay still in Sam’s arms. He squinted at the clock and closed his eyes. It was barely seven-thirty. He was never awake this early without a good reason, and considering that he had a soft bed and a warm body beside him, he couldn’t think of a good reason…except that he still had to pee.

Dean rolled onto his back, and found Sam’s eyes open. “Hey,” he said softly.

Sam smiled a little, looking vulnerable and a little sad. “Hey.”

Dean raised his hand and kissed it, then kissed Sam’s lips. “I’ll be right back.” He slipped out of bed and padded across the floor to the bathroom to relieve himself. He stared at his reflection as he washed his hands, trying to place why there would be blood on his skin, why he had marks on his skin that hadn’t been there last time he looked.

He remembered coming back to the room with Sam, ordering room service…talking about this demon Sam was afraid of…drinking entirely too much…and not much else.

“Dean?”

Dean shook his head and emerged from the bathroom. Sam was propped up against the pillows. “You okay?”

Dean smiled and nodded, crossing back to the bed. “Yeah…I’m good.” His eyes spotted the knife on the bedside table as he crawled back in under the covers. So they’d played rough. That explained a lot. “I’m cold now…but good.”

Sam drew him close, sharing body heat as he curled up with his head on Dean’s shoulder. “I had another dream. It’s my father. He’s going to give me to the demon.”

Dean stroked his arm. “It’s going to be okay Sam. I’m not going to let you out of my sight.” Sam shifted even closer, his nose nuzzling into Dean’s neck.

“Let’s just stay here for today. You and me and the bed. We can order room service, and never get out of bed.”

Dean thought nothing in the world sounded better.

 

“Dean, come here.” Sam’s voice wasn’t harsh or commanding, but Dean walked to his side without question. “Sit down.” Dean sat, looking up expectantly. “Stand up.” Dean did, though he had a look on his face like he wanted to say something. “Will you do something for me Dean?”

“Anything.”

Sam smiled and touched his face. “Yes, baby, I think you would.” Sam turned to the other man in the room, his father Dean recognized belatedly. He thought he should be embarrassed to be standing in front of the father of his lover naked, but he wasn’t. “We’re ready for the next step.”

The older man nodded. “Nearly everything is in place. We need a few more hours. By nightfall we’ll be ready.”

“And our father?”

“Spotted at the motel.”

Sam nodded. “Good. Did you plant Dean’s note?”

“Yes, just like you wanted.”

“I do believe that we will be ready for His arrival tonight then. Now get out of here. I want to play with my toy.”

The older man rolled his eyes and reached for the door. “Just don’t break him…any more. We need him functional to do his part.”

“Don’t worry, _Daddy_ … I know what I’m doing.”

Dean turned to Sam as the door closed. “What’s my part?” he asked, as Sam took his hand to lead him back to the bed.

Sam smiled softly. “To save me from the demon, remember?” His kiss was tender, soft. “Well, that and to please me.”

Dean closed his eyes and inhaled the strong scent of Sam. It filled him with desire, with the desire to please, to serve. Somewhere deep inside the thought was disturbing…but Sam’s hands were in his hair, his lips pulling on Dean’s…and all that mattered was the touch. “Will you get hard for me, baby? I want to tease you…”

“Anything Sam. Anything for you.” Dean whispered, his cock hardening even though it hadn’t been touched yet. 

Sam pushed him down onto the bed. “Let’s see how long we can keep it like this.” He stroked his hand over the underside, smiling when Dean hissed. “I want you needy and desperate when the time comes.”

 

The sound of a cell phone ringing jangled him out of the half asleep state and brought Dean away from the window. It was dark outside, though only barely and he had the nagging feeling he was supposed to be some place. He located his cell phone and lifted it, blinking as his father’s number registered. “Dad?”

“Dean…I---“ The rest of his statement was lost in static and Dean had to hold the phone away from him for a second.

“I didn’t get that Dad…where are you?”

“Warehouse…Detscher…” More static swallowed his words. “Demon is here.”

“Dad?” The call ended, leaving Dean standing naked in the hotel room alone. 

“Dean?” Sam emerged from the bathroom, his body draped in a towel and Dean felt his cock twitch. “What’s wrong?”

“My father…he’s in trouble.”

Sam’s face flooded with concern. “Where?”

Dean shook his head. “He said something about a warehouse and Detscher.”

Sam went white. “My father’s company owns a warehouse down by the docks. The name on the building is Detscher.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and he turned away from Sam. “So, It thinks it can get you by using my father.” Sam’s hands trailed over his back, making him ache with need. He had been hard all day…all afternoon. Every time he’d come close, Sam had backed away, torn by his fear, by his dreams and nothing Dean could do would drive away the haunted look in his eyes. “I have to go, Sam.”

“You promised me Dean…you swore you’d protect me.” Dean closed his eyes as Sam’s words dragged over his skin.

“I will. I will. I promise. But we’ve been hunting this thing so long, Sam. It’s taken so much from us, from me. It took my mother. It took my baby brother. It left us alone.” Dean shook with the suppressed pain and rage. “I was only a kid, but I’ll never forget that night.”

“You never said you had a brother.” Sam embraced him from behind, his hands warm against his skin.

“He was 6 months old when he died.” Dean let his head rest against Sam’s shoulder. “I can’t let it have my father too.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“What if I told you that your brother wasn’t gone, Dean?” Sam’s voice was just as soft.

“What?” Dean turned to face him, the question coloring his face. 

“It didn’t get me then…she saved me, gave her life to keep me alive. That’s why it wants me now.”

Dean took a step backwards, trying to wrap his mind around Sam’s words. “What are you saying?”

“I never told you my last name, Dean. I didn’t want you to know. I thought you’d leave me…I thought you’d be disgusted by what we’d done.” Sam stepped toward him, but Dean held up his hands and moved away.

“Tell me what you mean, Sam. Tell me now.”

“I only found out the other day, after you left my house. My mother, the one who raised me, she runs background checks on everyone…and they never changed my name, said that they wanted me to know where I came from…Please, Dean.” 

“No. No fucking way.” Dean shook his head and moved toward the bed where he’d piled his clothes. His cock was still hard as he pulled his pants on over them. 

“Dean.” There was so much pain and confusion and desperation held in that one word that Dean actually looked up at him. “Please, don’t be angry. Don’t…I need you.”

“You **knew**? You knew that I was your **brother** and you let me…made me…fuck.” Before he knew it Sam was on the bed, his hands on Dean’s face.

“Dean, I think…fuck, I love you. I have since I saw you that night in Palo Alto. And maybe…brothers aren’t supposed to…feel...this…but if you shut me out, if you won’t let me touch you…”

Dean raised his hands to Sam’s and pulled them from his face. “Stop.” He said it softly, holding Sam’s hands between them. “Just for right now. Stop.” He closed his eyes against the tears in Sam’s eyes and took a deep breath. “We can figure all of this out later, Sammy. I promise. Right now, we both need to get dressed and get down to that warehouse.”

“You said you’d do anything for me.”

Dean opened his eyes and nodded once, tightly. “I will. Trust me.” He let his lips brush Sam’s…just a chaste promise before he pulled back and returned to the task of putting on clothes.

For a moment, Sam knelt on the bed watching him, then slowly, he turned away and began dressing himself. Sam finished pulling on his shoes and looked up at Dean, his face filled with fear, confusion and love. Dean scarcely looked at him as he marched for the door. 

He paused with it open and glanced over his shoulder. “I won’t let it have you Sammy. You know that, right?”

Sam nodded and came to join him. “I know.”

Dean sighed and held the door open for Sam to pass through. He adjusted his pants, still rock hard and dragged his eyes off of Sam’s ass. Some part of him should have known. Some part of him should have been able to sense it. That he could feel…lust…that this could be the infant brother he had always believed was dead…Dean’s mind reeled with the information, with the _wrongness_ …everything was different, changed…and Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay again.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean slipped behind the wheel of the Impala and settled just a little. He was always more at ease in the confines of the car that was as much family as his father…or Sam he supposed…now. He stole a glance aside at Sam who was pulling the door shut. “I have to go to my motel and get a few things,” he said quietly before pulling them out onto the road.

Sam was quiet as they crossed town to the place Dean was staying. “Stay here. I’ll only be a minute.” Dean left Sam waiting and opened his room door. He had a few tricks up his sleeve that his father didn’t even know about, and the feeling that they were going to be needed.

He grabbed at his nearly empty duffle and dropped it on the bed, then knelt beside the bed to retrieve the gun he’d taped under the nightstand. It was dark and old and inscribed with symbols. He dropped it on the bed by the duffle and headed for his other hidden weapon, when his eyes fell on a piece of paper on the floor by the bed.

It was written in his hand, a note, written to his father. A note that he had no recollection of writing. “What the fuck?”

_Dad, I’ve got a line on local demon activity. There seems to be a lot of possessions, various phenomenon….There’s a warehouse district near the docks that a local hunter told me about. Detscher Shipping. There are reports of an increase in activity there, possibly even babies brought in. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Watch your back, Dean._

Dean bit his lip and cussed in his head. How could he not remember writing that? He hadn’t been _that_ drunk. He felt a strong compulsion to go back to Sam, felt his cock harden. 

He froze, re-read the note. “Fuck.” He hadn’t even heard of Detscher Shipping until his father called him. If that had even been his father. 

Dean pulled out his phone and thumbed for his father’s number. It rang three times before his father answered. “I’m almost there, where are you?”

“Dad? Where are you?” Dean asked. His cock hurt it was so hard. 

“I’m almost to the warehouse. Where are you?”

“Fuck.” Dean shook his head. “We have a problem. I didn’t write that note.”

“What?”

“For that matter, how did you know which hotel, which room?”

“Dean, you called me and left a message.”

“No, Dad. I didn’t. At least I don’t remember it.”

“What’s going on?”

“Give me a minute.” 

He pulled a worn leather journal out of his duffle, thumbing through it until he found a page inscribed in Latin. There were holes in his memory, but with everything he’d been through in his life, he was accustomed to that happening from time to time. Sometimes it was just the result of a mild concussion…or too much alcohol. Sometimes…He pulled his shirt open and ran a finger over the slowly healing wounds on his stomach, then went to the bathroom mirror. He murmured the Latin words slowly, and watched the wounds glow, followed by a series of sigils over his stomach and chest. “Fuck.”

He slammed the book closed and returned it to the duffle. “The fucker hexed me.” He followed it with the gun and then the knife he had hidden under the television cart. “Fuck.” 

“Dean? Who? What is it?”

“There’s…a guy…damn its complicated Dad. I’m not sure exactly what he did.”

If he tried, he could almost make out a memory of Sam marking his skin with fingers and tongue, Latin words crawling over him. It had been a dream…or so he had believed. Now, now he wasn’t sure. At least he knew something had happened.

“Fuck.” He knew that he had given himself over willingly, sold himself for sex…sex with his own brother. He also knew that whatever was going down was going down soon, and his father needed him, and he didn’t have time to research the symbols and figure out just what he was stuck with…let alone how to undo it. He pulled the shirt off and replaced it with a comfortable worn t-shirt.

“Tell me what you know.”

Dean shook his head. “There isn’t time. It’s something to do with energy sigils and blood work. I only recognize a few of the symbols.” He sighed and peered out the window at where Sam waited. “I’m bringing him with me. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Dean—“

“I may not have a choice Dad. It’s a compulsion of sorts. I doubt I could ditch him at this point. Twenty minutes. Wait for us.”

Dean closed the phone and shoved it back into his pants pocket. “Fuck.” He grabbed the duffle and headed out the door, just as Sam was getting out to find him. “Let’s go.”

“I was worried.”

Dean offered him a smile, wondering just how much of his time with Sam had been an act. “Nothing to worry about. Just needed some supplies.”

“You have supplies for demon hunting?” Sam asked, his face all wide-eyed innocence, and though Dean was less inclined to believe Sam was the innocent he wanted Dean to believe, he clapped a hand to his shoulder in reassurance.

“Yeah, sure…holy water, rock salt, guns, knives…all kinds of stuff.” He opened the trunk and deposited the duffle before heading back to the driver’s seat. “Come on, let’s go find us a demon.”

 

“That’s it.” Sam pointed and Dean let his eyes sweep the street. His father’s truck was no where to be seen. He stopped the car, then reversed them into an alley. 

The warehouse was dark, no obvious signs of activity. That meant either they were early, or late…or walking in to a trap. Dean took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He was nervous. This was the big one, the one he’d trained his whole life for…and he was under some spell and he wasn’t sure what it was meant to do or how it could affect him.

“Kiss me Dean.” Sam said and Dean leaned over to him, their lips sliding together. When he managed to pull away, Dean closed his eyes. That didn’t seem to be a good sign. The compulsion to obey had been strong, so strong Dean hadn’t recognized it until Sam’s tongue touched his.

“Sam. Let’s concentrate on this thing okay.” Dean said softly. “We need to figure out what we’re up against.” His stomach churned as he opened the door and headed for the trunk. “Can you handle a gun?”

Sam shrugged a little as he came around to Dean’s side. “Okay. This is loaded with rock salt pellets.” Dean said, handing him the shotgun. “It won’t kill a demon, but…” He held up a box of pellets, “with these, the salt’s been soaked in holy water. It’ll hurt like hell.” He shoved the box at him with a grin. “If it’s eyes are anything other than standard human eyes…black, red, yellow…shoot it.”

Sam nodded and shoved pellets into his pockets. “Got it.”

“Good. Now, let’s see if we can find my father.”

Dean shouldered his bag after shoving several bottles of holy water into it. They crossed the street and took cover behind a truck while Dean checked the obvious points of entry and kept an eye out for his father. He pointed toward the back of the building and headed that way in a crouch, glancing back once to be sure Sam was following. 

Winchester minds think alike, and Dean wasn’t surprised to find his father in the exact spot he’d been aiming for. Dean crouched in beside his father behind a stack of crates, pulling Sam closer.

“Stick close.” Dean whispered.

Sam’s hand found it’s way to the small of his back, and electric heat flooded his body. Damn, but he was hard. Dean swallowed and closed his eyes, fighting the compulsion to turn and kiss him. His father’s hand on his arm steadied him and he opened his eyes, nodding slightly. “Dad, this is…Sam.” His voice cracked and he dropped his eyes. _This is your dead son, Dad…who I happen to have let fuck me and fuck me up._ No. One thing at a time.

John’s eyes narrowed as Sam turned to him. “My God…Dean?”

Dean looked up at his father, then turned to Sam, trying to figure out what his father saw. It was almost like looking at Sam for the first time…his eyes, his nose… “Yeah, Dad. I know. Its all fucked up and I don’t know for sure…but…”

There were tears in John’s eyes as he reached a hand out for Sam who cringed before John’s hand settled on to his shoulders. “Sam. Your mother named you that.” 

John speared Dean with a look that was more piercing than most weapons he’d ever encountered. Dean met his eyes with a look that said, _Yes, I know…I should have said something._

John nodded. “I’ve always wondered, believed….but there was no evidence, no trail to follow…”

“Dad?” Dean’s jaw clenched and he felt a stab of jealousy. Jealousy. Dean kicked himself. “You never said—“

John let go of Sam and nodded. “I never wanted you to…it doesn’t matter. How did you find him?” Dean could tell he was waiting to follow his son’s lead with this.

Dean shrugged. “He found me…in a bar in Palo Alto, actually. Look, here’s what we know. Sam…he gets…dreams, stuff that comes true. His father--he man who raised him is planning to sacrifice him to the demon.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Dean.”

“I know.”

“Why?” Sam asked, his eyes darting between them. “Why doesn’t it make sense?”

Dean sighed. “It’s a lot to go into, Sammy, but trust us when we say it doesn’t.” 

“Tell you what else doesn’t make sense, right after I got here they brought in a woman and an infant.” John said, his eyes watching Sam’s reaction. “I didn’t get a good look, but they're all set up for some ritual activity inside.”

Dean frowned at him. “What kind of ritual?”

“Bloodletting by the look of it.”

“Sacrifice…as in….actual sacrifice?” Dean shook his head. “That’s…just wrong.”

“Yeah, doesn’t fit our guy’s MO at all.”

“Sammy, you got the keys?”

“Huh? Yeah.” Sam pulled out a set of keys and put them in Dean’s hand. 

“Sam’s…old man owns the building.”

John rolled his eyes. “This keeps getting better and better.”

“You’re telling me.”

John exhaled slowly, looking around them. “Sam, can you handle that gun?”

Sam nodded, adjusting his grip on it. “Dean and I need to go over some details, some ritual stuff, prep work. Can you stay here and watch our backs? We’ll be just over there.” John pointed behind him, closer to the warehouse wall.

Sam looked scared, and Dean squeezed his hand briefly, walking him toward the door. “Its okay…we’ll be right here. Just keep your head down and you’ll be fine.”

Sam nodded tightly and moved, into a crouch closer to the end of the crates Dean sighed again as he and his father moved far enough away that they wouldn’t be overheard. Running a hand through his hair he crossed back to his father. “It’s a trap.”

“Clearly. What about him?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Its…I haven’t known him all that long. We—met in a bar a few months ago…spent a few hours together. Then I ran into him here.” Dean swallowed around a lump of need that filled him and spared a glance back. “There’s…The kid’s messed up in the head, and he’s not entirely innocent, no matter what he looks like.” Dean paced away and back again. “Fuck, it’s strong.”

“Okay…I need to see, but we don’t want to tip him off.” John pulled off his shirt and pulled a bottle of holy water out of the bag at his feet, shoving into Dean’s hands. “Pretend like it’s a ritual thing. I’ll do you next.” Dean nodded and opened the bottle, squeezing some of the water into his palms and rubbing them together, before slowly rubbing it over his father’s skin. 

Dean blew out a deep breath and handed the bottle back to his father before he pulled his own shirt off. John wet down his hands and rubbed them over Dean, murmuring Latin under his breath. John cussed and ran a hand over the skin. 

“How bad is the compulsion?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember it.” He could feel the color rising in his cheeks. It wasn’t entirely true…he remembered begging…he remembered the feeling of Sam’s cock inside him, claiming him, owning him…he remembered falling into the dark almost willingly…if it meant Sam would stay there inside him. “He’s scared, he was afraid to tell me who he was…afraid we wouldn’t help him, or believe him…or something.”

John shook his head. “This was sealed in blood, Dean. How could you not remember?”

“It must be part of the compulsion.”

John leaned around Dean to peer at where Sam knelt. “Has he made you do anything since you found out?”

“No. Not really.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing I didn’t want to do, Dad…I just didn’t want to right then.”

“What else do you know about him?”

Dean shrugged. “Not much, Dad. Not really.” He knew how he liked his cock sucked…how to tongue the slit to make him buck his hips…how much teeth to use to make him hiss…how hard it made him when Dean begged…Dean took a deep breath. “We could just take Sam and go, Dad. Go somewhere to figure this out.”

John shook his head. “We’ve never been this close…not since the night you got that scar. We can’t walk away.”

“Okay. What’s the plan then?”

John muttered in Latin and wiped over Dean’s chest with more of holy water. “That won’t neutralize it, but should block it some, give you a chance.” 

“It stings.” Dean waved his hand over his chest to dry his skin.

“That’s how you know it’s working.” John said with a smirk. “Now, we have to get in there and figure it out. We operate under the assumption that we can’t trust him.” He thrust his chin toward Sam. “You got me, Dean?”

Dean swallowed and nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Good boy. Now, I’ll take him with me, circle around the west end of the building. You work your way around the east end. What’s that gun loaded with?” John looked again at the door.

“Rock salt, soaked in holy water.”

John nodded. “We don’t move in until It’s there. No matter what.”

“What are our weapons here?”

“Most of these are people, possessed or not. Blessed rounds should be good for them.” John rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a red handled knife. The blade was sharp and curved and marked with runes. “This was made for me by an old friend. It should cut the bastard in two.”

Dean smirked and pulled out his knife, similar in design, it’s handle black. “Looks like we have the same friends.” Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “This is really it.”

“Yeah.” John breathed it, his eyes stealing back to Sam. He pulled Dean unexpectedly into a hug. “You stay alive, hear me?”

Dean nodded as he was released. “You too.”

John shouldered his backpack and led the way, crouching and crawling to Sam’s side. “You’re coming with me, Son.”

“What about Dean?”

“Dean’s got a job to do. I’m going to protect you.”

Sam’s eyes searched for Dean’s and when Dean nodded he seemed to deflate a little. “Okay, I guess.”

“Trust me Sam.” Dean said, managing to keep his voice even and calm. “This is our chance.” He pressed the keys into his father’s hand. “You take these. I’ll find my own way in.” He flashed a smile and disappeared around the back of the building. 

John clamped a hand down on Sam’s shoulder. “You ready for this?”

Sam nodded. John nodded. “Let’s see about getting inside.”

 

Dean crawled through a grimy window, dropping lightly to the floor six feet below. He was on the waterside of the building, and the smell of salt air left a tang in the back of his throat. He’d watched from the window as several people came and went from the back entrance, and when the store room was finally empty, he’d dropped in. He’d moved quickly to the door. The last two to leave the room had taken weapons with them. Dean wanted to know why demons needed weapons. 

He peered through the door and paused as a wave of desire swept through him. The only thing worse than being away from Sam was when Sam touched him. He shook it off and eased out the door. The sound of voices drew him, clinging to the shadows, to a set of doors that were cracked open. 

His father wasn’t kidding about the bloodletting ritual. He couldn’t see much more than the black tubs and part of the altar, and a handful of people in robes. Dean’s eyes swept the upper reaches of the room, looking for a place to get a better vantage point. Voices moving closer to his spot sent Dean scurrying into the shadows, into a corridor. 

It was dark, lined with what he assumed were offices. He peered into windows, taking stock of places to hide, possible weapons, fuel for fire. Then, as he neared a cross corridor, he froze, stepping back to peer into the room.

She felt his eyes and turned and something inside him cracked. She was screaming his name, pounding on the door. Dean looked around him, then reached for the door. Her face was frantic in the tiny window. The door was locked, of course and it took Dean a minute to dig out his picks. “I’m coming. Hold on.” His mind crashed through their history, to the last fight, to the last time he’d held her in his arms and told her the truth….everything about him. He could almost smell her hair.

He fought with the lock until it gave, then she was in his arms, crying hysterically. “Cassie. Cassie. Calm down. I’ve got you.”

“Dean…Oh my god, Dean.” He held her while she gasped for air and sobbed against his shoulder. “They took her, Dean. They took her.”

“Who? Who took who? What are you doing here?”

She stood back, her hands still shaking, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t know who they are. They showed up at my house a few days ago. Forced me to get in the van with Dana.”

“Who’s Dana?”

Her face paled and she pushed her hair out of her face. “I never told you…I couldn’t…I couldn’t find you…and…”

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. “Cassie, stay with me. I need you to help me understand, so I can do…what I do.”

Her eyes met his, then danced away. “Dana is my daughter.” She swallowed, then looked up at him. “Our daughter, Dean.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dean shivered. No. He hadn’t heard her right. It was impossible. He tried to do the math in his head, but kept getting stuck on the words…. _Our daughter, Dean._.

He held her at arms length and shook his head. “What? Cassie….I…what?”

She smiled tentatively. “She’s six months old, today.”

“Six months…fuck.”

“What?” She wiped her eyes with shaky hands. “What Dean?”

“That’s when it came for Sam. When it killed Mom.” Dean paced away and peered out the window. “Do you know where they took her?”

“No. They just…she was crying…she was crying and they wouldn’t let me hold her.”

Dean gathered her in his arms and tried to calm the rapid pounding in his heart. This couldn’t fucking be happening. “Okay…Cassie, I need you to calm down. We’re going to find her. I swear we’ll find her and it will be okay, but you need to calm down.”

As she pulled herself together, Dean tried to figure out just what kind of crazy game this fucking demon was playing at. It wasn’t generally into the whole worship thing that a sacrifice seemed to indicate. It killed…or that’s what they had always assumed. It killed mothers and infants on the night the infant was 6 months old. Sometimes it was thwarted, and the child lived. 

Of course, now he had to reconsider that. If Sam had been taken, not killed…and now it seemed Cassie’s daughter…his daughter…was to suffer the same fate, though…Cassie was here, alive, not burned on some ceiling somewhere. Dean shook his head. He had to find his father…had to….Voices, headed toward them. Dean moved them closer to the door so he could see. Two robed figures were coming their way. 

“Okay, Cassie. I need your help. Go stand in the middle of the room. Someone’s coming. They need to see that you’re here…and not see me.” 

Dean flattened against the wall by the door. The door opened and Dean tensed. The first robed figure moved into the room, reaching for Cassie. Dean waited until he could see the second one in the doorway and pushed the door, hitting the second one and pushing the first. He hooked a foot under the first, and dropped him to the floor, whirling around to follow with a solid punch. He jumped for the second who was struggling to get up, yanked him into the room and punched him too.

“Come on.” He grabbed Cassie’s hand and all but dragged her out of the room, moving them into the cross hallway and praying he figured out what was going on before things got any uglier.

 

They crouched in the shadows on a catwalk above the ritual circle, Dean and Cassie, while Dean surveyed the scene below. The space was set up for serious ritual, and nearly complete at that. Dean could see the man he had known as Sam’s father, his robe lined with red. He was chanting at the altar, waving incense. They were too far away to make out what he was saying. Behind him, there was a table, under which the black tubs were waiting for the bleed out. 

“You stay here. No matter what. I’ll come back for you.”

“You can’t leave me.”

Dean inhaled sharply. “I can’t….I have to. If I’m going to save Dana, I have to. You’ll be safe here. As long as you’re quiet.” There were more of them gathering below them, a circle forming. The chanting changed tenor and pitch. This was it. Dean leaned over the edge of the catwalk, looking for a sign of his father or Sam.

What he saw wasn’t the sign he was looking for. “Damn.”

He fished a gun out of the bag and pressed it into her hands. “Its got a full magazine. The rounds are blessed. It should cut down anything that comes at you. Don’t be afraid to use it.” He paused, then kissed her forehead. 

His gut clenched as he spotted Sam being dragged away from where his father was held by two of the larger figures. The shotgun lay on the floor a few feet away. His father’s face was bloody. Sam was putting up a pretty good fight. Dean felt himself flush with arousal and shook his head. Fucking black magic. Fucking hexes. Sam was going to be the death of him yet.

 

John wasn’t sure how much was show, and how much was real, but he could feel fear rolling off of Sam as he was dragged away. His gut hurt from the sucker punch, and his nose was still bleeding. The demon wasn’t there yet though, he could tell. All around them they were forming a circle, and Sam was getting his clothes ripped from his body in preparation for getting laid on the table.

He knew Dean was nearby. He hoped he was following orders and not showing his hand before the thing that killed Mary showed its ugly face. The man at the altar turned toward them as Sam was finally naked, naked and hyperventilating through clenched teeth. “What the fuck is this?” 

“Shut up Sam.” 

The circle took up the chant, soft and low at first, but building. Sam fought against the hands now manhandling him toward the table. “I did my part. You can’t—“ 

“I said shut up, Sam.”

The man’s hand came up and Sam froze, rising out of his captors’ hands, his entire body rigid. John pulled against the hands that held him, trying to get closer, but a moment later he didn’t need to. The hood on his head fell back and his eyes glowed eerily. John took a deep breath and smiled to himself. This time it was real. Now all he needed to do was get his hands on the damn thing.

Those eyes flicked his way and John’s smile faded. “At last, the great John Winchester. I’ve waited a long time to watch you die.”

John didn’t rise to the bait, and managed to turn his eyes away, to Sam who was being strapped to the table. A robed figure handed the Demon his knife, and he pulled it from it’s sheath slowly, admiring the handiwork. “This is very nice, John. Who made it for you?”

John smiled at that, his eyes coming back to the demon’s. “Like I would tell you.”

It was in front of him now, and almost casually drew the tip of the blade over his cheek, drawing a line of fire and blood. “You will, so that I can return it to them, with gratitude.”

“You aren’t leaving this warehouse alive.”

It laughed and turned away. “On the contrary, John. Tonight is a very special night. Tonight is the night I am reborn. Tonight is the night I am made flesh.”

It paced away over to Sam, playing with the blade. “Call him.”

Sam shook his head and it drew a line down his leg with the blade. “Call him and maybe I’ll let him take your place.”

Sam shivered, pulling against the iron that held him to the table. “Dean. Come for me.” His voice sounded small in the big space, lost under the chanting.

“Louder. I don’t think he heard you.”

“Dean! Come for me!” Sam yelled, turning his face away from John’s, away from the demon. “Fuck you.”

 

Dean felt it, a sudden pull forward, even before he heard the words rise up over the chanting. “Fuck.” He grabbed a pillar and held on until he had a little power over it. He’d seen the whole floating Sam trick, and the look of fear on Sam’s face told him that he hadn’t been expecting it. 

Turning his back to the pillar, Dean pulled out the knife, tucking it into his belt. The special gun he checked, then tucked into the back of his pants, pulling his shirt down to cover it. He was breathing heavy with exertion as he stepped free of the pillar and let the compulsion draw him.

“Call him again.”

Dean heard Sam whimper, and imagined he was probably getting cut again. “Let me up and maybe I will.” Dean thought he sounded angry, and more than a little scared. 

There was screaming then and Sam’s voice cut through to him. “Dean! Now!”

Dean drew his knife as he neared the circle of robed figures. He had no choice but to obey, but he was going to do it on his own terms. Two of them went down at the same time, blood gushing out of slashed throats and Dean stepped through and over them. “I’m here, Sam.” He said it softly, but it fell into the sudden silence of the room like a rock. 

Two of them came at him, and both fell, cut nearly in half. “Want to keep dying, keep coming.”

“There you are. I do hope my son wasn’t too hard on you. He can be quite cruel.” He stood over Sam, the knife point playing over his chest.

Dean stopped a few paces behind his father. “He isn’t your son. And yes, he can be quite cruel.”

“Save me, Dean. You promised.” 

Dean took a few stumbling steps forward before he found his control again. “Don’t worry Sammy, not a single Winchester is dying today.”

“No?” Yellow eyes met Dean’s green ones, then both sets of eyes tracked to the knife as it cut deeper. “Tell me Dean…do you know what you get when you mix Mother’s blood with a Seer’s blood and then baptize a Seer in both?”

Cassie’s scream echoed through the room as her body flew through the air toward them, her stomach already torn and bleeding as she halted over one of the black vats. “Son of a bitch!” Dean threw his knife, and it slammed into its stomach. It stumbled backward and Cassie fell, but Dean knew from the sickening crash that she was already dead, her blood soaking her white dress, even as it spilled onto the cement floor. The gun clattered from her hand, skating across the floor until it stopped a few feet in front of Dean.

Slowly the demon wrapped a hand around the handle of the knife and pulled it from its borrowed body. “Is that the best you have, Dean?”

“Careful, Dean.” John’s voice rumbled low. “It’s trying to provoke you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s doing a fucking good job.”

“Dean, help me.”

Sam’s voice was like a hand stroking his cock and Dean’s knees trembled. “I’m helping Sam. Just let me work.”

“You’re unarmed now, Dean. What can you hope to accomplish? It is a beautiful blade. To bad you didn’t make very good use of it.” Several of the circle members were moving Cassie’s body, saving what of her blood wasn’t already puddling on the floor.

Two more came at Dean again. He rolled away, swinging an arm out and around the neck of the first, snapping it before he hit the ground, skidding until his hand closed on the gun, then turning and shooting two rounds into the head of the other. His next two shots were for the two holding his father, then he climbed back to his feet and held the gun out at the demon.

“That won’t kill me, Dean.”

“No, but I’d bet it stings like hell.” He squeezed off three rounds, two of which struck home, making it step back from Sam.

“Enough.” Dean felt his throat close up as if a hand was closing around him. The demon came closer and John launched himself at it, only to be forced backward by another invisible hand. 

“Dean.” 

Dean’s body twitched, pulled forward despite the hold the demon had on him. His eyes met Sam’s. The black was gone from them, only plain green painted with pain and fear. The demon turned back to Sam, leaving Dean hanging a full foot off the ground. “You, of all people should have expected this, Sam. You were never meant to live beyond tonight. You are only a means to and end.” He made several deep cuts on Sam’s arms and legs, over the holes that would let the blood seep down into the vat where Cassie’s blood was already cooling.

“You promised me—“

The demon’s smile was cold as he leaned down to kiss Sam obscenely. “Yes, well…surprise, surprise…I lied. I’m a demon Sam. What did you expect? I’ve kept your powers suppressed, held you in check when your ‘better’ nature might have sent you off in search of something purer…I’ve fed you every piece of information you have about yourself…all to get us here…so that you’re blood could help me return to the world.”

It squatted beside the table, his finger swirling in the gathering blood. “That’s good enough. Bring the child.”

Dean stiffened, fighting against the hold. Beside him his father was bleeding as well, pushing against the hand that held him. A woman stepped into the circle, a squirming bundle in her arms. Dean started, fighting harder now as Dana was handed off to the demon, the white blanket falling away. It held her over the vat, her soft skin the color of coffee with cream, her hair dark like her mother’s. 

“Put her down, fucker. I swear, you are so dead.”

“Dean. Come to me.” Sam’s voice was weak, and Dean spared him a glance. His face was pale with blood loss. The compulsion was still strong though and Dean nodded at him to keep it up. “Now Dean. Come to me. Save me.”

Dean could feel himself moving closer, but so slowly. The demon was chanting in Latin, his hand pouring blood over Dana’s head. “Fuck. Sam, more!”

Sam pulled his head up and locks his eyes on Dean’s. “Free yourself and get over here now!”

Dean’s body shook even as the demon looked up, holding Dana aloft in front of him, letting the baptismal blood flow down over her tiny body. Dean’s hands came free first, reaching behind him for the gun. His feet hit the ground and he stumbled forward, his left arm closing around his daughter’s tiny body for the first time, his right jamming the colt up into the ribcage of the body the demon was possessing. 

The first shot brought them both a few inches off the ground, then Dean was stumbling backward, tucking Dana into his body as he raised the gun to eye level, tracking the falling body to plug two more into its forehead.

The smell of sulfur exploded around them. Dean fell to his knees, folding over the crying infant, covering her face as all around them demons shrieked and Sam screamed, and it died….slowly, twitching as it melted away.

He could hear shots being fired, could feel his father moving around them, taking out anything that didn’t flee…but all Dean could care about at that moment was the baby in his arms, wiping the blood from her face, smiling down as her crying stopped. When his father’s hand touched him, he looked up with tears in his eyes. Then he spotted Sam. “Dad…I don’t even know where to start.” He stood and slowly handed the baby into John’s hands. “Hell, sure I do. This is Dana. Your granddaughter.” 

With John starring at him, Dean moved to Sam’s side. “Sam? Sam…can you hear me?”

“Promised me.” 

Dean smiled. “Yes I did. Let’s get you out of here.” Dean pulled the pins out of the shackles and took a minute to assess the wounds. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, but it’s nothing we can’t fix.” Dean pulled off his shirt, tearing it into strips to tie over the still bleeding wounds. 

“We’re bringing him?” John asked and Dean looked up at him.

He nodded slowly. “I…have to.”

John nodded. “He’s going to need a hospital.”

“You got her?”

“Yeah. You got him?”

Dean nodded. “We need to go.” John headed for the nearest exit and Dean helped Sam to his feet, letting him lean most of his weight on Dean’s shoulder. “I got you, baby. Everything else…we’ll figure it out.” They stumbled along behind John, but Dean’s cock was aching with so much of Sam touching him. He paused them, adjusting his grip on Sam’s arm. “Just one thing…can I fucking come now?”

Sam smiled weakly and rested his head on Dean’s. “Yeah baby…come for me.”

Dean shuddered and shook and fought against yelling out. It ran hot and thick down his leg and he only hoped he could pass it off as something else if his father noticed.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean let himself relax a little. Dana was content in his arms, her tiny fingers curled around his, her mouth curved in a toothless smile. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t suffered any ill effects from the trauma, other than being left motherless. He hadn’t yet wrapped his mind around it all. He was still in reaction mode. 

Sam was asleep on the other side of the room, stitched up, bandaged and drugged into oblivion. His father had gone out to get stuff they would need for the baby. For the moment it was just Dean and his daughter. His daughter.

He hadn’t seen Cassie in…at least a year. Their last time together had been filled with fights, because Dean had let himself think he could have something normal, or whatever passed for normal for a Winchester. She thought he was crazy. Maybe he was. Maybe they all were.

Of course, that didn’t bode well for the baby girl in his arms. Dean shook his head and she gurgled. He didn’t even realize he was crying until he saw the tears splash against her face. He felt like his insides were cracked and broken and the messy stuff he’d spent a lifetime burying was oozing out. 

It was over…and yet it was only beginning. He looked up as the door opened and John stepped in and over the salt line. He smiled at Dean as he set the bags on the table. “How is she?”

Dean cocked his head at Dana who was sucking on his finger. “Fine…she seems to be a happy baby.”

“Well, I picked up some clothes, formula, bottles. She’s probably ready for cereal.”

Dean grinned as he watched his father setting his items out on the table, especially when the teddy bear emerged. “What?”

“Nothing. I’ve never seen you…like this.”

“Like what?”

Dean met his eyes with his own. “Happy.”

John chuckled and reached for Dana. “Give me my grandbaby, and make her a bottle. She’s got to be hungry.”

“Yes sir.” Dean let John take the baby and watched as the older man grabbed a bag and moved over to the bed to change her diaper and dress her in warm pajamas. Dean grabbed the canister of formula and skimmed over the directions before pulling open the package of bottles his father had brought. The tiny hotel room didn’t have a microwave, so he had to settle for running hot water in the bathroom sink to clean them. 

By the time he’d emerged, John had Dana dressed and was holding the teddy bear where she could see it. “Here.” He handed the bottle across and John took it with a nod. They both watched as Dana reached up for it. Once she’d settled the nipple into her mouth, John looked up at his son. 

“What about him?”

Dean leaned on the wall near the bed Sam slept in. and sighed. “We can’t keep him drugged forever.” He had avoided touching Sam since the warehouse, very conscious of the reaction his body still had. 

“No, but we can’t trust him.”

“No.” He scrubbed a hand over his scruffy face. Idly he wondered how long it had been since he’d shaved. “He’s…manipulative. Beyond the whole compulsion/hex thing.” He hadn’t told his father the whole story…that Sam had used sex to snare him…that he’d been fucked by his baby brother in more ways than one…that even now he wanted him, even knowing the truth. He recognized so much of what had passed between them since they met now as plain manipulation. “But, I don’t think what happened in that warehouse was what he was expecting.”

“That doesn’t make him innocent.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I understand why you had to save him, Dean. I just…I’m not sure why you need him here.”

Dean shook his head. “You’d rather just leave him out there somewhere?” He pushed off the wall and paced a little. “I need to…I don’t know. Get rid of the hex, if nothing else.”

John nodded. “We can work on it tomorrow.” He yawned. 

Dean came to stand between the beds, looking down at Sam’s face. It seemed so innocent and peaceful as he slept. “You sleep, Dad. I’ll watch him.”

“You need to sleep too.”

Dean nodded. “I will. He’s due for his next dose in a few hours. Then I’ll sleep.”

John kicked off his shoes and laid Dana down on the bed before standing up to pull off his jacket and jeans. Dean turned off the bedside light as his father settled into bed with his daughter. His daughter. 

Dean fell into the chair heavily, his eyes moving over her tiny form before skipping back to Sam’s. He wanted nothing more than to just turn his brain off and float on the victory, but it played out in his head every time he closed his eyes. He’d made a promise…a promise he hadn’t been able to keep. He watched her body fall, crashing into the ground…felt her blood as it rushed out of her.

With a deep breath, Dean leaned back in the chair, his eyes on Sam’s face. That was at least some of why Sam had been so important to him. His promise to Sam had been partially due to the compulsion, but it was still a promise. With a frustrated sigh, Dean got up and headed for the bathroom to shower. He could still feel Sam’s blood on his skin, more than forty-eight hours later.

With the water running over his skin, Dean let his mind go blank, fell into the irregular pattern of drops on his skin and held to the numbness. He could go back to the draining fight to just keep functioning after…after what he wasn’t sure…he just wanted everything to stop for a few hours so he could catch up…so he could breathe…grieve…understand.

The holes in his memory from the last few days weren’t as dark as they had been. Not that he actually remembered more than brief flashes of images…words…and sex. Dean groaned and turned so that the water spray was hitting his back. 

The sex…well, he’d never had anything that compared…it was as if Sam could read his mind, knew exactly what kink button to press to push him. Dean gasped as he realized that the idea wasn’t so far fetched…okay maybe not straight up mind reading, but the demon had called Sam a Seer. Dean punched the wall and cussed.

His life had always been pretty fucked up. He could admit that easily enough. But this was new and different and now he had a new life to consider. A daughter, an infant. It had been just his father and him for so long, Dean didn’t know how to make it fit…didn’t know how to make _them_ fit. 

For now, all he could do was turn off the water and put on dry clothes, clothes that didn’t smell like Sam, and wait for the time to dose his brother into oblivion before crawling into bed to try to shut down the thoughts and emotions and images for at least a few hours. After that, he’d send his father and daughter out for a walk and have a conversation with Sam. One that didn’t end with the two of them tearing at each other’s flesh.

 

Dean watched Sam’s eyes open slowly, cautiously. They swept over the motel room and up to Dean’s. “Where are we?”

“Motel. Rhode Island.”

Sam nodded and looked down at himself. His arms and legs were wrapped in bandages, but he wasn’t bound. He shifted so that he was sitting with his back to the headboard. “Where are…” He looked pointedly at the other bed.

Dean’s jaw clenched. “Not here.”

“You…you’re…”

“Mad? Angry? Confused? Hurt? Homicidal?” Dean didn’t move from his spot in the chair across the room. His eyes stayed locked on Sam’s.

“Dean.”

“No. We’re not doing that.” 

“I could make you.”

Dean quirked a smile. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He was fairly certain that if Sam spoke the word he’d have little choice but to obey, but Sam had fucked with his head enough that a little turn around was fair play. “I want you to tell me what the fuck that was all about back there in that warehouse. And for a change, I want the truth.”

“I haven’t always lied to you.” 

Dean fixed him with a look that said quiet pointedly that he didn’t believe that and Sam held up his hands. “Okay, I’m serious Dean. Yes I lied. I lied a lot. But…not all of it was a lie.”

“Tell me one thing that wasn’t a lie.”

“I didn’t know who you were when I met you.” Sam didn’t blink, just let his burning green eyes speak for him. “Not until I came home. I really did dream about you, for a week before that night. I dreamed about you and a different life. Away from Stanford and Boston and everything I’d ever known.”

Dean thought he might just be honest about it, but he didn’t let it soften his resolve. “And when you did know?”

Sam sighed, his hands rising shakily to pull his hair back out of his eyes. “I can tell you what I thought was going on, if that will make you happy.”

“It’s a start.”

“When…my father…found out about you, and realized who you were, he said that made everything perfect, told me to get ready to seduce you. He didn’t tell me you were…that we were…related, only that he needed you fucked up, wanted to get you to kill your father. That’s what I thought was going to happen. I get you to give me control, you kill your old man and then you stay with me.”

“As what, your sex slave?”

Sam actually blushed, his fingers picking at the obscenely floral bedspread. “I really did feel—“

“No. I said we aren’t going there.” Dean shifted. “What about Dana? What was it doing with my daughter?”

Sam’s hands rubbed over his face and he adjusted his position a little. “I-I—that wasn’t…I didn’t know anything about that Dean, I swear.”

“I gathered that from the bleeding and the restraints.” Dean said quietly. “What was he doing?”

Sam paled and glanced around as if someone might over hear him. “Just because I was raised…the way I was raised doesn’t mean I know everything.” Dean didn’t blink, didn’t move. Sam sighed and shook his head. “Okay…from what I know, and its only theory mind you, it was a very ancient…a ritual that allows an upper level demon to enter an infant…permanently. No exorcism, no killing…nothing short of other Demons destroying it.”

Dean exhaled slowly. “How?”

“It starts with a Seer, someone with gifts…telekinesis, telepathy, etc. It must be a full grown human, with the gifts, strong gifts.”

“He said a Seer’s blood and Mother’s blood.”

“Mother of another Seer, an infant. The middle of it’s first year, the night it has lived 6 months. It only works if the two Seers are related by blood. Close blood.”

Dean nodded. “Like an uncle.”

Sam nodded. “Better if it’s a brother or sister or mother or father…but yes, uncle would work.”

“What does it do?” Dean wouldn’t look at him, his eyes stuck on a stain on the ugly green carpet, his rage ratcheting up another notch.

“I’m not clear on the details. Baptism in the mixture activates the infant’s power…which doesn’t usually come until puberty, opens her up, makes her powerful. The rest is really vague…it’s performed after the demon takes over the high priest, so the human texts don’t really go into detail…but ultimately, it would have been her…it would have…filled her and she would have…been gone.”

Dean looked up as Sam’s words softened, as his voice faded. For a long moment neither of them spoke. When Sam did, his voice dripped with misery. “It used me. It lied to me and used me.”

“I know the feeling.” Dean stood, pouring a glass of water and picking up a pill bottle. He dropped a tablet into his hand and crossed to Sam’s side. “Pain killers.”

“I—I don’t want to…go back to sleep, Dean.” Sam said. 

“That’s the needle. When I want you to sleep, you’ll know it. Take the pills Sam. There’s no point in suffering more than you need to.”

“What are you planning to do with me?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Dean started back to the chair then stopped and turned around. “What spell did you use? How do I undo it?”

“Its…a compulsory hex…my father used a variation of it on the help, so that they would forget things they shouldn’t know and obey orders even when they…when there were demons in the house and…” Sam shook his head. “I…modified it. I wanted…Fuck, Dean.”

Dean stood beside the bed, his fists clenching and unclenching. “Say it.”

“I wanted you.” Sam said and Dean shook his head. “I still do. I thought you wanted me too. I thought…if…if I…once you knew, you’d never let me touch you again.” Sam dared to look up, his hand rising as if to touch Dean’s arm. “And I couldn’t…couldn’t stand it if you didn’t want me.”

Dean dragged the stale motel air in through his nose in an attempt to control the surge of emotion, anger, desire, need. “Let me touch you, Dean.” Sam whispered and Dean felt the compulsion dig in, shuffling him close enough Sam could reach him. Dean stiffened as the skin of Sam’s hand, dry, chapped and rough, touched his own. “Love me.”

Dean closed his eyes as his mouth twitched. “I do, Sam,” he breathed just before he pulled his hand free and back handed Sam across the jaw. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass if I have to.”

Sam’s head snapped to the side and tears welled in his eyes. There would be a nice bruise there in a few hours. “How do we undo it?” 

“I…don’t know. I’d need the book, I’d have to have the standard counter hex—“ Dean raised his hand again and Sam cringed. “I’m not lying, Dean.”

“Maybe I just want to hit you.” Dean said with a lifted eyebrow and Sam’s face looked like that wasn’t something he had even considered.

“It will wear off…on its own, eventually.”

“How eventually?”

Sam shrugged helplessly. “It needs to be reinforced every few months. If it isn’t, it diminishes until its gone.”

Dean turned away, moving back to the chair. “Take the fucking pills Sam, or I swear I’m going to knock you out.”

The door opened and they both looked up expectantly at John with Dana in his arms. “You’re awake,” he said as Sam looked away, then he looked at Dean. “You two have a productive talk?”

Dean scowled and shook his head. “Take the fucking pills,” he growled over his shoulder at Sam who reached a shaky hands for the pills and glass of water.

“There’s dinner in the car.” John offered, turning to lay Dana down on the bed. 

“I’ll get it.” Dean said, stalking out of the room. He reached the Impala and pulled the door open, reaching in for the bags of take out and freezing. A shiny and pink car seat smiled at him from the back seat. He stood up quickly, or tried to, forgetting to pull out of the car completely, and crashing his head into the car’s roof. 

The pink plastic was too much…too real…Dean sat down hard on the gravel driveway of the motel and stared at it. Bottles and formula was one thing. This was something else. This was pink baby plastic…right there in the black embrace of the Impala. 

Dean couldn’t even pretend anymore. He started laughing, crying…until his stomach hurt from the combination and he was having trouble catching his breath. 

“Dean? Is everything okay?” His father’s voice reached through the haze and Dean picked himself up off the ground, shaking his head.

“I don’t know, Dad…I just don’t.” With a deep breath, he grabbed the bags and turned for the door, pushing the car door closed. He smiled for his father, but it wasn’t as solid as he would have liked. He set the bags on the table and shook his head again. “I…just don’t know…what to do anymore. I’m…It’s too much.” He said it softly, so that Sam wouldn’t hear him. 

“You will, Son.” John said. “You need rest and time, but I have every confidence in you.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Dad…there’s a baby seat in the Impala. A pink fucking baby seat.”

John chuckled. “Okay, so a lot of time.”


	11. Chapter 11

Dean sat outside the motel room in a beat up lawn chair, Dana asleep on his shoulder. He was tired, but couldn’t bring himself to get up and go inside. The feeling of the sleeping infant in his arms was calming…lulling…it filled him with emotions he wasn’t sure he had names for. He knew anger, fear, vengeance, hatred…but love for him had always been mixed in with the rest, all edged and sharp, cutting deep jagged wounds that the rest could fester inside of.

He sighed deeply and adjusted his position a little, letting his head fall against the wall. The door beside him opened and his father stepped outside, a blanket in his hands. John smiled at him, and it was a smile Dean wasn’t familiar with…his eyes sparkled and his freshly shaved face lost the worry and wrinkles and hot angry fire. He reminded Dean of the man he’d been before they’d lost everything. “Here, it’s getting cool out here.”

John settled the blanket over Dana’s sleeping form, his hand lingering on her head for a moment. “That look suits you.”

Dean smiled and shook his head. “Is he asleep?”

John nodded. “I only gave him a half dose though. We’re running low and I don’t know when we can get more.” He leaned up against the rail. “So…how did it go?”

Dean inhaled sharply. “I can’t be sure…I mean, I haven’t figured out how to tell when he’s lying. He says that the compulsion will wear off on its own…eventually.”

“How eventually?”

Dean’s mouth twitched. “A few months…maybe.”

“I don’t like that.”

“Me either. He didn’t know what the demon had planned Dad. That much I believe. He did know a little about the ritual. I think…I think we’re okay. The baptism was only the first part of the ritual, preparing the…” He turned his head, brushing his lips over Dana’s head. “…vessel. It didn’t get to the next part.”

John nodded. The sat in silence for a moment, then John stood up. “I’m very proud of you Dean.” Dean didn’t look up, only sighed, the tired pulling on him. “You should probably go inside though, before you fall asleep out here.” To that Dean nodded, then seemed to catch the tone or something in his father’s voice.

“Where are you going?”

John smiled broadly and pulled keys from his pocket. “Out. Probably all night. There’s an old friend in town. We’re gonna grab some beers, talk shop.”

Dean smiled. “Good. You could use some fun, Dad. Enjoy.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he got slowly to his feet. “I think I can handle a sleeping infant and a drugged into submission brother…even a demonically inclined brother. Go on.” He watched his father go, then went into the room, stepping carefully over the line of salt. 

The room looked like they’d been there for weeks instead of a few days. A playpen was set up in the corner after they had eaten and John had retrieved it from the Impala’s trunk. At least it wasn’t pink. Dean crossed to it and laid Dana down, covering her with the blanket before pressing two fingers to his lips, then her lips. Their gear was spread out around the room, clothes drying on a line stretched over the kitchenette area. His father’s books were stacked beside the nearer bed. 

Sam shifted, rolled to his side, facing Dean and Dean felt himself flush with warmth. His eyes skimmed over Sam’s face, that face that had melted him within minutes of meeting him, framed with dark hair that felt so good in his hands. He took a deep breath and told himself to stop, but his eyes weren’t done…snagged in the act of dragging them away…snagged on his lips…those lips that knew better than Dean did how to make Dean a quivering wreck, begging to come.

Dean’s cock hardened and he cussed. “What am I, a fucking teenager?” He turned his back to Sam, but the damage was done and he wasn’t getting it to go away without taking matters in hand. “Okay. Fine.”

He checked to be sure Dana was still sleeping, then stripped down to his boxers, and rummaged around in his bag for the lube. Once he’d found it, Dean moved into the bathroom, his cock harder for passing Sam on the way. Once he’d closed the door, Dean wasted little time in dropping his boxers and slipping a lube slicked hand around himself. He just wanted to get it over with and get some sleep. 

It didn’t take long to become obvious that that wasn’t happening. Dean forcefully dragged his thoughts away from Sam’s body…Sam’s controlling fucking…Sam’s cock in his ass. He tried to replace him with some random fantasy girl…guy…tried to cast himself in the dominant role, the way he had always been with everyone but Sam…but nothing helped. The lube dried up and he had to re-apply. Twenty minutes…and if anything he was only harder. “Fuck.”

Dean stopped, took his hand off of himself and braced himself against the bathroom wall. “Fuck.” Memories of the many and varied ways he and Sam had done just that filled him. He shook with the need for release…for Sam…he realized in a flash of memory of that first time and he groaned. 

Walking was not easy this hard…but he managed…somehow to get from the bathroom to the side of the bed. “Sam,” he whispered it hoarsely, reaching out to shake him. The blanket moved and Dean’s hand contacted flesh instead. He moaned as that familiar fire burned from the point of contact straight to his groan. “Sammy, please.” 

Sam mumbled, turned, eyes opening slowly, then widening as Dean’s cock waved in his face. He was drug hazed, but he licked his lips. “Dean?”

“I can’t…it won’t…Sam…Fuck.” 

Sam smiled vaguely. “You keep saying that,” he whispered and Dean growled. “Okay…its okay, baby. Come here.” Sam sat up and reached for him and Dean stumbled forward.

“No…just…say it…so I can…Sam, God.” Dean jerked as Sam’s hand closed over him. He hadn’t meant…hadn’t wanted this…just to come, just to… “Sam, don’t. We can’t.”

Sam looked up at him, his confusion clear in his eyes. “You want it.”

Dean shook his head, his eyes closed. “Need…no, Sam. Brothers. We’re brothers. We can’t. We…can’t.”

“Let me take care of you, Dean.” Sam said and Dean groaned, knowing he would…because right here, right now the compulsion took advantage of him _wanting_ this, no matter how he protested.

Sam’s mouth closed over just the head, sucking lightly, and Dean jumped. His hand closed over the base, rubbing it while his tongue licked up over the crown, lapping at the pre-cum before once more closing his lips over the shaft and swallowing it deep. Dean’s body rocked forward, his hands closing in Sam’s hair. Sam’s hands circled Dean, his fingers digging into the fleshy part of Dean’s ass as he swallowed harder and Dean bucked his hips forward, mindlessly fucking Sam’s mouth. “Sam…god, Sam,…need to…fuck…need to come. Need…please…”

Sam’s mouth slid off him and he looked up, his green eyes hooded and dark with lust. “Yeah, baby…come…I want you to come.”

Dean moaned and Sam closed his mouth over the head, sucking as Dean’s cock twitched and started to spew. His hands stroked over Dean’s lower back and ass as he swallowed, and Dean fell forward, pressing Sam back onto the bed until his cock pulled out of Sam’s mouth with a pop and Dean was straddling him, panting.

Sam’s hand rubbed up his legs and Dean groaned shaking his head. “No. Sam. Stop.”

“I want you so much Dean.” Sam whispered, pulling Dean toward him, closing his lips over Dean’s. As his tongue slipped into his mouth Dean could taste himself, mixed with that taste that was Sam…and he groaned again. “Please.” Sam whispered as he brought Dean’s body down, rolling them so that Dean was under him. “Please Dean, I want to touch you. I want to fuck you again. Please.”

It wasn’t a command, it wasn’t a statement pulling Dean into action without caring what he wanted. Dean’s eyes were closed as Sam’s hands and lips roamed over his skin. It was a question, a need…an ache that Dean recognized. _Wrong_ . It echoed in his head, bouncing off of _Need_ and _want_ and _fuck me now_ until he felt Sam’s finger sliding inside him and his legs moving of their own accord, giving him room. “Yeah…okay…Sammy…okay.” He heard himself say it, felt his body open up, and Sam move over him. 

Two fingers invaded him and he arched into the touch. “Sam,” he gasped, tilting his hips up in an effort to bring him deeper. “Now…god, do that again.” Sam pressed down on Dean’s prostrate before pulling his fingers out. Dean moaned and thrust his hips after the fingers until he felt Sam’s cock there, pressing slowly into him. “Fuck.”

Then Sam slid in, deep and strong and Dean threw his head back, nearly howling as Sam held and waited for him to adjust, his fingers sliding through Dean’s short hair while his lips sought out a nipple to tweak and kiss. Sam’s fingers slid down, over his face until his hands were on his shoulders, pushing himself up and out of Dean before pushing back inside. “Harder Sam. Harder.” Dean murmured through clenched teeth, his hands fisting in the sheets of the bed as Sam obliged, setting a blistering rhythm and slamming hard enough into Dean that the bed rocked beneath them, inching across the floor toward the wall. “Fuck!” Dean yelled, his body shaking as Sam’s cock thrust into his prostrate on every stroke. 

“Dean…”Sam fell forward at the bottom of his stroke, his cock filling Dean with warmth and wetness. He smiled sloppily, his eyes showing signs of the drugs in his system and the pull of sleep. He muttered something that might have been “Love you,” before his head was on Dean’s chest and he was asleep. Dean lay under him panting for a long moment. When he’d finally caught his breath and the chorus of doubt and _Brother_ in his head was reaching full volume, Dean pushed Sam off of him and climbed out of the bed.

He paced the room naked for a few minutes, shaking his head and kicking himself for letting that just happen like that. Especially when Sam hadn’t ordered…the only compulsion had been the blow job, to let Sam suck him off, rather than just ordering him to come. Dean slammed into the bathroom, running water in the sink to splash over his face. His own reflection accused him. “You are one sick fuck.”

The point was only emphasized by the come running from his ass down the back of his leg and he cussed again before climbing in the shower to wash away the evidence. Once he was done, he pulled on jeans and rearranged Sam in the bed, turning him so his head was on a pillow and sliding covers up over his nakedness. 

For the first time in a long time he wished he hadn’t given up smoking. A cigarette would somehow make him feel better…or maybe give him something to do with his hands. He made for the door, opening it to let the cool night air caress his over-heated skin. 

They had to find a better solution to their current predicament…to Sam and Dana and the very fucked up life they lived. Dean leaned against the door jamb and breathed in the air. Dana deserved more than the vagabond life he had lived since he was a child. And really, what did he know about being a father that wasn’t caught up in the Winchester crusade, with late night hunts for ghosts and monsters and day time training and running from town to town?

Dana deserved friends and school and a father who didn’t disappear at night…for weeks on end…and come back bruised and beaten and haunted by what he had seen and done. She deserved a home, not some flea bag motel on the outskirts of a town she’d never call home.

Then, there was Sam. Dean turned around, facing into the room, leaning his head on the door. Dean wasn’t sure what Sam deserved. It was easy to just call him evil and cut him loose…well, it would be if not for all this emotion and compulsion and the fact that evil or not, he was human…and like it or not, a Winchester.

The problem Dean was having went way beyond his sexual needs, butted up against Dean’s inherent need of family. Sam hadn’t really been given choices, or had role models that…Dean sighed, recognizing his rationalization.

The truth of it was, they couldn’t keep him drugged forever, and there was no way in hell Dean was trusting him enough to leave him in a room with his father and his daughter without the drugs to incapacitate him.

But the other truth was he hadn’t lied when Sam had asked him to love him. Somehow, despite it all…Dean did love him. It went beyond want and compulsion. It went way the hell beyond brothers…into some sick fucked up…love…And more than anything else that had happened since coming to Boston, that frightened him.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam eyed the rest of the room as he slowly put his feet to the floor. He’d proven earlier in the day he could stand on his own, and other than the aches and the lingering weakness from the blood loss, he was recovering. Dean had spent the last hour pulling out stitches, and Sam felt rather like a pin cushion. A pin cushion with a desperate need to pee. 

Dean was feeding the baby and John seemed deeply involved in research of some variety, and Sam was determined he could make the bathroom on his own. His steps were short, shuffling. Dean looked up, a question on his face, but Sam waved him off. He was irritated. He’d never spent this much time in bed in his life, that didn’t involve sex, and he was tired of the drugs, the forced convalescence…tired of the way John looked at him, never sure what it was he saw in the older man’s eyes.

Sam reached the bathroom door and stopped, resting against the wall. He hated feeling so fucking weak, hated being this person he was letting himself become. It reminded him too much of those years as a child when his father…that man that raised him, dominated his life and Sam had bowed and scraped and let himself be bullied. He closed his eyes and shuffled into the bathroom, closing the door and cherishing the moment of privacy. He hadn’t been alone in a room since the hospital unless he was drugged into unconsciousness.

They didn’t trust him. Not that he could blame them. He didn’t trust them either. He didn’t know what they had planned. He couldn’t read John the way he could Dean, and since the whole thing with the Demon, he couldn’t really read Dean either. Unless it was about sex. Dean was completely transparent when it came to that.

Sam braced himself with the inside of his calves against the cool porcelain of the toilet and peed, sighing a little at the relief and quiet. Worse than not knowing what they had planned, Sam was at a loss himself. 

By now his life was gone. All access to the money, the contacts, everything would be gone. He was stuck. 

He’d been meant to die, to take one for the team or some stupid shit. It just showed that the old man really didn’t know him, despite everything. 

They had never been close. He’d made sure Sam knew from a very young age that he wasn’t his, wasn’t wanted and he wouldn’t be there if someone very powerful hadn’t paid for him to be there. It wasn’t until he was thirteen that Sam began to see how to work the situation to his advantage. 

Sam shook his head and tucked himself back into the sweat pants that were too short and overstretched. He didn’t want to think about that, about them. He needed to think about now, about what he was going to do, before Dean brought out the syringe and clouded up his head again. Stuck with two crazy men and an infant. Stuck with people who despised him.

He flushed the toilet and turned to the sink, running the cold water to splash over his face and neck. He felt…flushed, almost feverish…anxious. Part of him wanted to get away, break free…figure his own path. Part of him wanted Dean. Part of him wanted to order Dean to put down the baby and suck his cock, right there in front of John.

Sam sighed and looked at himself in the mirror. His skin was pale, his eyes hollow, the dark circles making them look sunken and dead. “You look like shit,” he mumbled before taking a deep breath. Now that the stitches were out, he could shower. If he could manage to stand that long. He decided to risk it, if just to have the room to himself a little while longer.

The hot water felt good, and he had to think about when his last shower had been. More than a week he decided, though he couldn’t place it exactly…Before he’d told Dean…before he’d thrown his last punch in the effort to twist Dean so far around the bend he’d never come back.

Sam let the water flow over him, holding himself upright with a hand on either wall, breathing in the moist air. He didn’t exactly regret what he’d done to Dean…he’d thought he was saving him. The Demon…played him off his father, manipulated him. He should have known the two of them were working together. Should have known he was getting played.

On some level maybe he did. Maybe he knew and was too fucked up in the head to stand up and be a man. Maybe it wasn’t his head at all.

Sam shuddered at the thought and turned off the water. He could hear Dean and John moving around in the next room, probably nervous with what was taking him so long, imagining him conjuring demons with soap and water or something. He snorted at the thought and wrapped himself in a flimsy hotel towel before snatching the sweatpants off the floor.

He shuffled out of the bathroom, moving even more slowly than before, all strength draining through his toes into the dirty carpeting beneath him.

“Bout time you showered, dude. You reeked.” Dean said flippantly, handing Dana to John. “Need a hand?”

Sam shook his head, but regretted it as pain shot through his temples. He grabbed at the wall, missing the first time and stumbling, before grabbing the corner of the wall and turning his back to it, pressing his body into the cheap wall paper to keep from falling down. 

It lanced into him, like fire and ice and sharp, sharp pokers into both temples and between his eyes. He grabbed at his face, vaguely aware of Dana’s sudden crying, and Dean’s yelling. He was falling, his knees giving out and there were pictures, faces…people with black, black eyes…demons taking shape out of the dark…corporeal and ready to do violence. The screaming hit him like a physical blow…or was that Dean? 

Sam struggled to open his eyes, saw Dean squatting beside him, his face looking over his shoulder. “Get Dana out of here!” Sam shook his head, reading the fear and disgust and somehow through the haze realizing that Dean thought he was doing something to the baby, hurting her somehow.

Then Dean’s hands were on the side of his face and that seemed to anchor him, pull him out of the pictures in his head and Sam remembered suddenly to breathe. He gasped, pulling air into his lungs as he the images and sounds faded and he was completely within his body.

It took a moment for it to process, to understand what had happened. When he did, he looked up at Dean with wild eyes. “We have to go. We have to get out of here. They know where we are.”

Dean looked angrier than Sam could remember seeing him. “Who?” he asked, practically chewing the word.

“Demons…lots of demons.”

“Maybe we should let them have you.” Dean said, pushing Sam’s head to the wall. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing Dean. Nothing. I swear. Its never happened before. Not like this. Sometimes the dreams…but always at night, when I’m asleep. Never like this.”

“What?” Dean’s face softened just a little, or maybe Sam imagined it.

Sam took a deep breath. “A…vision…premonition…or something. I don’t know. It’s never happened before. It fucking hurt.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the door, through which his father had fled with his daughter. “This got to do with the Seer thing?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So maybe she saw it too?” Dean moved his hands and stood up. “Maybe it hurt her too.” He rubbed a hand over his face.

“It said it had been suppressing my…gifts.” Sam said softly, remembering the words. “I never thought…it didn’t make sense.”

“What are you blathering about?”

Sam settled to sit on the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The ritual, Dean. I didn’t put it together. The Seer has to be powerful…both of them have to have two or more of the gifts…I’ve never had more than the occasional prophetic dream. Never.”

“Until now.”

Sam nodded. “Until now.”

“Fuck.” Dean paced away, going to look for his father. At the door he stopped, already spotting John moving back toward them. “What else?”

He turned back to Sam. Sam blinked, not sure what he meant. “What other gifts, Sam?”

Sam shrugged. “Telekinesis, mind reading, fire starting…I don’t know.”

“Great. This keeps getting better.” Dean paced back toward him, frowning. “I really don’t need a 6 month old who can start fires with her mind.” Dean reached down to help Sam up, grimacing when the towel fell off. “Cover up. They’re almost back.” 

Sam looked up, spotted John, and grabbed the towel, holding it in front of himself as Dean guided him back to the bed. “I’m serious Dean.” Sam said as Dean pulled the covers over him. “We have to go.”

“Not now Sam.” Dean said wearily. 

Sam grabbed his hand and pulled him close. “They’re coming. They’re going to kill us.”

Dean pulled away, anger flaring in his face before he turned away. “Go to sleep Sam. Or I’ll put you out.”

“Damn it Dean, listen to me.” 

Dean turned back to him, and Sam instantly regretted it. “I-I didn’t mean…sorry.” He didn’t want to force him, just wanted him to listen.

“Go to sleep. We’ll talk later.”

Sam had to admit, the whole shower and premonition had just about finished him, and sleep wasn’t really a hard thing. He watched Dean walk away, meeting his father by the playpen, then closed his eyes, pushing the images away and reaching out for the promise of sleep.

 

“Sam. Time to get up, get dressed.” Dean’s voice was quiet, but Sam knew even before he opened his eyes that he was in no mood for anything but obedience from his prisoner. Yeah. Sometimes you just had to call it what it was. Sam opened his eyes and sat up, taking the clean pair of sweats from Dean’s hand. “Those should fit better. They’re new.”

Sam noticed, even in the half light of the motel’s dim bedside lamp that something had changed. The room was nearly empty. “What’s going on?”

Dean turned away as Sam dressed. “Dad ran into a demon…convinced me maybe you were right. It’s time to move on.”

“Where to?”

“Haven’t decided yet. You done?”

“Yeah. Help me up?”

Dean turned back around and put a hand under his arm, pulling him up to his feet. Dean was quiet as he walked him out to the car, settling him in before going back inside for the last of their things. John approached from the other side of the car, carrying the baby. He crawled into the back seat to secure her in her car seat, and looked at Sam for a long minute.

“I’m only going to say this once. If you hurt my boy or this baby, there will be no where you can go that I can’t find you. You think those demons will hurt you? They’ve got nothing on what I would do to you. Is that clear?”

Sam didn’t need any special abilities to know John meant what he said, meant everything he said. Sam nodded. “Yes, sir.” Sam turned in the small space, resting his head against the seat and sighed as John finished his task and pulled out of the car. Dean was there only moments later, settling into the driver’s seat after checking on Dana.

“He doesn’t like me.” Sam said as Dean waved his father out in front of them. 

“Who?” Dean asked, guiding the Impala out onto the street.

“Your father.”

“Our father.” 

Sam sighed and turned his head away. “No. He hates me.”

Dean didn’t answer right away and when he did, Sam wasn’t sure how to interpret the tone of voice. “He’s…it’s a lot, Sam. But he’s your father. We have proof. Now.” 

Sam inhaled and sat up straighter. “What proof?”

“The friend he went to see, has access to labs. We had them run you and Dana both. You are definitely my brother and she is definitely my child.”

Sam scowled and turned to look out the side window. Somehow the idea that they had checked, that they had doubted, irked him. But really, why would they believe him? It wasn’t like he hadn’t had his own doubts. 

Dean wouldn’t want him anymore…now for sure. It burned. Sam sighed and tried to go back to sleep. At least when he was sleeping he didn’t need to think anymore.

 

“Dean?”

Hours had passed. Dawn wasn’t far away, and still they drove. “Yeah, Sam?”

“I want you to know…I’m sorry. For the whole thing. I didn’t want that girl to die.”

“I know Sam.”

“Do you? You look at me differently now. When you look at me at all.”

“Sam, I’m trying to drive.”

Sam sighed. He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say…or even why he wanted to say it. “Fuck,” he whispered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “This isn’t easy for me.”

Dean shook his head. “And you think its easy for me?” He looked at Sam for a long moment before turning back to the road. “For god’s sake, Sam, in the last week I’ve found out the guy I was letting fuck my ass is my brother, who I thought was dead, killed the demon that I thought killed the brother who is in fact, not dead and fucking my ass and fucking with my head, discovered I’m a father and to top it all off, I’ve been fucking hexed. I can’t trust you not to hurt the people I love. I can’t trust the people I love not to hurt you. I can’t fucking trust myself not to beg you to have sex with me. I haven’t slept more than two hours at a time since the warehouse and I’m running from demons. What about that is easy?”

“I’m sorry.” Sam said again. What surprised him was how much he meant it. “I could drive…if you want.”

He felt Dean look at him and look away. “I sure as hell am not trusting you with my car.” 

Dean’s phone rang and he fumbled with it a little before getting it open. “Yeah? Sure. Okay.” He hung it up and put the phone on the seat between them. “Dad says there’s an all night truck stop up ahead. We’re stopping for chow and to stretch our legs.”

Sam nodded. “Then where?”

Dean turned them off the road and into the truck stop, pulling up beside his father’s truck. He took a deep breath and looked at Sam. “Missouri.”

“What’s in Missouri?”

“Not the state.” Dean said, getting out of the car. “Missouri is a person. A friend. Dad called in a favor. Now, get out of the car.” Sam pulled himself to his feet and watched as Dean got Dana up and out. John nodded at them and together they headed in to the diner part of the truck stop, Sam shuffling slowly, but on his own, behind them.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean pulled the Impala over within sight of the sign, getting out of the car without saying a word and pacing away. His father stopped behind him, getting out to lean against the truck.

Dean didn’t want to be here. He agreed with the idea, the overall idea that they needed help…that they needed someone who could see past the enchantments, through the defenses…someone like Missouri. But this was Lawrence…Kansas. Dean’s last memories of his mother were held here. The image of a house in flames. The feeling of confusion and despair and grief.

He wasn’t really ready for that. It didn’t help that Missouri gave him a serious case of the creeps. He paced back toward the Impala, his eyes rising to meet his father’s. He didn’t have to say anything. His father waited. Just waited.

Finally, Dean nodded and got back in the car. John followed suit, pulling out in front of Dean to lead them into town.

“What was that about?” Sam asked.

Dean shot him a look. “Do you really not know?”

Sam shifted in the confined space, sitting up and looking around them. “No. What?”

Dean’s jaw worked a little, his eyes back on the road. “It’s Lawrence, Sam. We lived here.”

“We did? As in, we.”

“Yeah, we. This is where it happened.”

Dana gurgled in the back seat and Dean glanced over his shoulder. “I know baby, long ride. We’re almost there.”

Sam chuckled, trying to hide it behind his hand. “What?” Dean asked, his tone irritated.

Sam shook his head. “Nothing. Did you hear yourself?”

Dean smacked his arm. “That’s my little girl.”

“Ow. No need for violence.”

“Shut up.”

 

Missouri was on her front porch when John pulled in and climbed out of the cab of the truck. “John Winchester, as I live and breathe!” 

John smiled at her, and accepted her sweeping hug with gratitude. “Hey Missouri. How you been?”

She stepped back and swatted at him. “Is that all you got to say? I ain’t seen you in close on a year, and that’s it?”

John looked down at his toes and shuffled them a little. “We got into a spot of trouble, Missouri, and we need your help.”

She snorted at him, looking up as the Impala pulled in behind John’s truck. “Yeah, and if that isn’t the understatement of the century. You and that boy of yours.” She stopped, quirking her head to the side and staring at the car. “I stand corrected.”

She turned to look at him, her smile fading. “I told you, didn’t I, John. I told you he was alive.”

John nodded, turning to watch as Dean got out of the car, waving at Missouri before he opened the back door and started fumbling with the car seat. Sam was slower to get out, eyeing Missouri with suspicion as her face lit up and she moved over to Dean, already reaching for the baby. “What is this child going to do with all of these men around her. Give her to me child. She needs some woman love.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but let Missouri take Dana. “You trust her with your kid?” Sam asked and Missouri looked at him.

“Don’t you start with me boy, I can see right through you.” She cooed at Dana then waved her free hand. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready and then we can talk like civilized folk. Dean, you bring in that playpen, you hear?”

“Yes ma’am.” Dean said, already moving to the trunk to pull out his duffle and the baby’s things. “Just, don’t make her angry, okay Sam?”

 

As dinner was ending, John rose to clear the table and Dean yawned. “First door on the right, top of the stairs.” Missouri said and Dean just looked at her. “What? You need sleep more than either of these two, and I’ll have my hands full with them tonight. Take a shot of whiskey and go on. Your daddy will keep an eye on the little one.”

Dean shook his head, standing slowly. “Someday you’re going to be wrong.”

She just smiled. “Not tonight. Go on with you.”

Dean glanced at his father who nodded and then Dean turned to Sam. “Just…I don’t know…don’t provoke her.” Sam snorted at him and Dean walked away shaking his head.

When he was gone, Missouri stood and reached a hand out for Sam. “What’s say you and me go into the den, Sam. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Sam looked at John, as if expecting something, then back to Missouri. “I’m not exactly comfortable with this,” he offered quietly and Missouri chuckled.

“As if I care what you’re comfortable with, boy. Go on now. We got business.”

 

John was settling Dana into the playpen in the living room, when Missouri and Sam finally emerged from the den and Missouri sent a very quiet, very subdued Sam up the stairs. He turned expectantly and she shook her head, watching him go. When he was gone, and they heard a bedroom door close, she sank into a chair, waving him to another.

“That boy….” She sighed. “That boy, he’s had bad, John. Bad like you don’t want to know about.”

John sank into a chair opposite her, his hand scrubbing over his face. “How bad?”

“Ain’t my place to tell you that. He’s carrying around a mess of pain, secrets and stories and it’s no wonder he’s done the things he’s done.” She sighed and hugged herself.

“And what has he done, Missouri? Dean isn’t telling me everything I know it. And Sam, he’s barely said ten words to me since we met.”

“You’ll have to get one of them to tell you. Ain’t my place.”

“What can you tell me?”

She shrugged. “He’s afraid. Knows that he was meant to die that night. Knows his whole life was a lie, and everything he believed is probably gone. He’s afraid of you, afraid for Dean. Knows them demons he’s spent his life around are gonna want payback.”

John shook his head. “I really don’t know what to do here. I don’t know how to help Dean. I don’t know what to do with Sam. The only thing I’m sure about here is Dana. I never dreamed of grandchildren.”

“She’s beautiful. You are very blessed John Winchester.”

He smiled, then yawned. “I seem to always come to you seeking shelter, Missouri.”

She smiled and stood. “And you’ll always have it here.” 

“What about the house?”

“We’re safe enough. No demon’s gonna dare step on my land.”

John nodded and stood. “I’m going to check on the boys.”

“Yeah, you do that. I’ll get you a pillow and some blankets. The couch isn’t as nice as the guest beds, but there’s no lumps…and you’ll be close to Dana.”

 

Sam wasn’t tired. He’d spent most of the driving time either sleeping or in a state like sleep. His time with Missouri had left him unsettled and anxious and while he took her advice and went to his room, the bed lay untouched and he sat in the window seat, with his knees folded up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, staring out into the night.

She saw through him, and she pulled no punches. Her words had left him a quivering puddle of weepy, weak child…huddled in the dark in the punishment closet, afraid to breathe.

She’d known things no one alive knew, but him. Seen them in his eyes. Things he didn’t even admit to himself anymore. Relegated to a place in his mind where he could pretend. He hadn’t realized how much of his childhood had gone there, into that place. He’d cried, not five minutes in, he was bawling like he was eight and his father had beat him over missing classes because his stomach hurt.

Sam hated himself. The problem was he wasn’t sure why, or how or which part hurt the most. He hated the crying, the weakness. He hated the way he’d let her in, let her see. He hated the memories he thought were gone, exorcised like the demons in that closet.

Sam shuddered and hugged himself tighter. If he let himself, he could almost admit he hated himself…hated who he’d become because he’d believed the lies. Hated what he’d done…the lives he’d ruined through casual cruelty, or more direct deception. He laid his head down on his knees and stared into the darkness outside his window.

She’d seen more than all that too. She saw past the dark, that she said ate at the edges of himself like acid eating its way into flesh. She saw the power inside him. 

“It’s gonna eat you alive, boy…from the inside out, just like that darkness is eating its way in. ‘Less you do something to stop it,” she’d said.

But, she hadn’t said what.

There was a soft knock on the door and Sam stirred just enough to lift his head. “You okay?” John asked from the door.

“What? Like you care?” Sam said, misery dripping from his voice.

John hesitated, then looked over his shoulder before slipping into the room and closing the door. He crossed the floor awkwardly before he sat on the bed. “I don’t like coming here. Lot of memories in this town.” He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, avoiding looking at Sam. “But things are different this time. You’re here.”

Sam turned so that his chin was on his knee, his green eyes eating the space between them. “I don’t remember this place. It almost feels like I should.”

John attempted a smile, and failed. “You…you were…a baby, Sam. You couldn’t remember it any more than Dana will.”

Sam sighed, his eyes closing. John ran a hand through his hair. “Missouri is a good woman. I trust her.”

“But you don’t trust me.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “I’d like to, Son. But you have to admit, you haven’t given me much to go on.” After a long moment, he stood. “You’re safe here, Sam. Once Missouri offers you shelter, nothing will harm you. The rest is up to you.”

John turned to go, but Sam’s voice stopped him before he reached the door. “I asked about you once. I think I was 8. I asked where you were and why I wasn’t with you. They never hid from me that you were still alive.” Sam stretched out his legs, putting them on the floor as his body turned toward John. “They told me you didn’t want me. That you didn’t want a boy who would let his own mother die to save himself. Then the put me in the closet.”

John turned to look at Sam. Sam’s arms were wrapped around himself, as if letting go would cause him to shatter. His eyes wouldn’t meet John’s. His lips trembled. “Do you have any idea what demons will do to an 8 year old boy when they’re locked in a closet with him?”

John inhaled, his eyes tearing. Sam shook Tears streamed down his face. When his eyes finally did meet John’s it was John that shattered, crossing the room in two strides and kneeling in front of this son he didn’t know. He touched Sam’s hand, stroked it, tears streaming unchecked down his face. “Sam. Oh, Sam. Never believe I didn’t want you. Never.”

Sam didn’t pull his hand away. He hated himself even more, but couldn’t stop the shaking, couldn’t stop the crying. He wanted John to hold him and he wanted him to go away and he wanted to curl into a ball and die. He settled for turning back to the window, and John took the hint, withdrawing from the room, taking his anguish and fear and leaving Sam to his.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean was the first to emerge, slipping down the stairs as quiet as he could in the early morning. He smelled coffee and was following the smell. His heart skipped a little when he paused by Dana’s playpen and she wasn’t there, but he could hear Missouri in the kitchen, talking and humming, and he swallowed the panic.

“Coffee’s on the counter. Breakfast be ready in a minute.” Missouri said without looking up from the stove. Dana was in her left arm, gurgling away like she was talking and Missouri smiled at her. “Your baby girl is quite the talker.”

Dean smiled and took his coffee to the table before reaching for Dana. “Yes, she does go on.” He got Dana in his arms and turned her to face him, and got a wet, open mouthed kiss that covered his entire nose. “Someone’s gonna have to teach you how to kiss without slobbering, little girl.” He said as he sat down, wiping his face on his sleeve.

“That would be you, Daddy.” Missouri said and Dean groaned.

“I don’t think I’m ever getting used to that.” 

“Course you will. You just wait until she starts using words you can understand…and she calls you Daddy for the first time. It will melt even your cynical ole heart.”

Dean moved his coffee and sat Dana on the table, her diaper crinkling as she moved her feet, almost swinging them between the table and Dean. Her little hands grabbed at his sleeves and slapped at his nose and she giggled. Dean couldn’t help but smile and kiss her cheek. “What?” he asked defensively as Missouri put a plate of eggs beside them with a smile.

“Nothing. You’re just too adorable.”

“I’m not adorable…Okay, I am…but stop.” 

“You are not the tough guy you make yourself out to be Dean Winchester, and you and I both know it.” She brought her own plate to the table and sat down.

“Are we gonna do this now?” Dean asked, his face going serious and nervousness creeping into his voice.

“No time like the present.” Missouri countered, adjusting her seat a little. “Now let’s start with the wee one, shall we?”

Dean pulled Dana into his lap almost defensively. “What about her?”

Missouri shook her head. “You’re going to have your hands full with this one, child. She’s got power, goes way beyond what Sam’s got. She’s seventh generation Winchester.”

“What kind of…what are we talking about here?” Dean sipped at his coffee and tried to keep it out of Dana’s reach.

Missouri shook her head. “Can’t be certain how it will manifest, but certainly she’ll have the dreams, the visions.”

“Sam said something about moving things and fire starting.”

She chuckled. “Yes, yes….it’s entirely possible. But, she’s a good baby. She misses her mama, but knows you’ll protect her.”

Dean snorted. “She tell you that?”

Missouri looked offended. “Just because you can’t understand her when she talks to you doesn’t mean all of us are in the dark.” She huffed for a minute and ate in silence. “Now, let’s talk about you.”

Dean’s face paled and he shifted Dana a little more to his right so that he could reach his food. “I was wondering when you’d do that.”

“Want to tell me? Or should I just have a go?”

“You’re the psychic.”

She “hmmphed” and shook her head. “He’s got you pretty messed up in the head, don’t he? That’s a pretty powerful compulsion he laid on you. How you handling it?”

Dean brushed a kiss over Dana’s hair. “I’m not. Not really. We tried reversing it, used holy water and…but nothing really works. He…he doesn’t really use it…he could.”

“He wants to. There’s something he wants from you and he’s tempted. But so far he’s resisted.”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know what to do with him. I don’t know why he’s behaving like he is. I can’t tell when he’s telling the truth. Damn, he played me. I’ve never been played like that.” He closed his eyes and sighed again.

“Listen with your heart, Dean. You’ll know the truth when you see it.” She ate quietly for a while, then looked up at him. “The compulsion is so strong because it isn’t necessarily something you don’t want. That’s how he pulled you in. He’s an intuitive, Dean, senses what people want, and gives it to them. That’s how he survived all this time in that place.”

Dean went still, looking up at her. “What place? What are you talking about?”

“Not my place to say. You need to talk to him.”

“He won’t tell me anything about before.”

“Have you tried?”

Dean sighed in exasperation and stood. “He tried to get me to kill my father. He hexed me into obedience. He screwed—around with my head. He lies. He cheats. He was flipping raised by demons, Missouri.”

“Have you talked to him?”

Dean deflated. “No.”

“Give me that baby and go talk to him. He may be ready.”

Dean didn’t ask, didn’t argue, just handed Dana back to Missouri and left the kitchen. His father was still asleep on the couch as he slipped past and headed up the stairs. He paused outside Sam’s door and raised his hand to knock. “Sam?” he said softly as he knocked and twisted the knob. The bed was empty, looked like it hadn’t even been used. Dean closed the door and let his eyes adjust to the half-light of the room.

Sam was on the floor near the closet, folded up on himself, his head on his knees. His eyes looked haunted, dark. Something in his expression made him look like he was just a kid. “Sam?”

He stiffened and Dean started. “Its okay. I can…come back later.”

“Don’t…don’t go.” Sam’s voice was small and broken and even without a compulsion to keep him from moving, Dean didn’t think he could leave.

“Okay.” He moved to sit next to Sam, sliding down the wall.

“I—I couldn’t sleep.” Dean didn’t really have anything to say, so he waited. Sam looked like he had been crying at some point, his eyes rimmed in red and puffy. “The memory…the…” Sam shook his head and turned it away. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“For what Sam?” Dean tried to keep his voice gentle, lifting one hand to touch the younger man’s shoulder.

“I can’t…I…you must hate me. I would hate me. I do hate me.”

Dean shook his head and let his hand slide down Sam’s back, rubbing lightly. “I don’t…hate you…how could I? Look at you. Even if you weren’t my brother…you’re too pretty to hate.”

Sam turned his face back, hope lighting in his eyes. Dean felt himself hardening and kicked himself. That wasn’t what he was here for. He had to turn this around. “Do you want to talk?”

Sam shook his head, and sighed. “I haven’t…remembered in a long time. I blocked it, hid it…when I learned how to…” He sighed again. “I’m not making any sense.”

“Its okay, Sam. We can just…sit, if you want.”

Sam nodded, leaning against Dean’s touch. Dean inhaled and tried to calm the sudden rush of need flowing through him. Sam’s head settled onto his shoulder. Without thinking, Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. It was quiet then, the sound of breathing, the weight of Sam’s head, the rhythm of Dean’s hand. When Sam turned to kiss him, Dean didn’t even react…not until he felt Sam’s tongue on his lip. Dean pulled back, head banging against the wall. “Sam. Please.”

“Want to.” Sam said, sounding as much like a petulant child as a man whose hand was finding its way to his cock could.

Dean’s hand closed over Sam’s as it cupped Dean’s groin. “Sam. No.”

Sam nuzzled into Dean’s neck, his fingers playing along the seam of Dean’s jeans. Dean’s hand tightened around Sam’s wrist and pulling it away. Sam’s lips closed over Dean’s again and he could feel his resistance fading. 

Sam’s hands cupped his face as he straddled Dean’s legs, his tongue dipping in to Dean’s mouth. His lips pulled on Dean’s as he ended the kiss, his forehead pressed to Dean’s as he breathed across his skin. “Dean.”

Dean’s hands finally moved up to Sam’s hips, pushing at him. “No Sam. No. We can’t. We can’t.”

Sam stiffened on his lap. “Yes, we can. Please, baby. I need to touch you.”

Dean groaned and pulled away, as much as the wall allowed. “Sam…” He rolled his eyes, feeling his body respond, despite his words. Sam’s hands pushed at his shirt, pushing it up enough to get his hands underneath. Dean groaned again.

“Let me.” Dean murmured, pulling the shirt off and tossing it aside. “Slow down.” He kissed Sam, tasting him and pulling him closer with a hand behind Sam’s head. 

Sam pulled back, a fight in his eyes. His face was suddenly hard. “What?”

“I’m in control.” Sam whispered, shivering. “Always in control.”

“Sam…I’m not—“

Sam’s kiss was harsh then, more teeth than lips, pushing Dean’s head into the wall. His hands pressed down Dean’s chest, almost painful. When he pulled back from the kiss Dean shook his head. “I’m not trying to take it from you Sam.” Dean whispered. Something in the look in Sam’s eyes scared him. He stroked his hands over Sam’s face. “Sammy?”

Sam shook his head. His body shook as a flood of memory exploded in his head. “No.” He kissed Dean again, teeth nipping on lips and tongue forcing its way inside, as if taking what he wanted would push the flood back, take away the hurt, tuck the memory back inside its box where he didn’t have to know. 

Sam pulled away, not looking at Dean. “Get naked,” he ordered harshly, knowing Dean would comply, knowing and needing even as a part of him hated himself for it. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was soft, caring and Sam shook his head.

“Shut up. Just do it.”

He didn’t watch, just turned away, shucking the sweatpants, his cock hard and red and closed his mind to the memory of the time he hadn’t been in control. “Come here, Dean.” Dean’s skin was hot under his hand, hot and starting to sweat and Sam refused to look at his face, refused to acknowledge what he is doing as he palmed Dean’s cock, feeling it swell in his hand. “That’s it. Want you. Want to fuck you. Want your mouth on me.”

His hands pushed Dean to his knees. Dean waited, didn’t speak, just looked up at him and Sam couldn’t look, couldn’t see…He closed his eyes. “Open your mouth Dean.” He thrust in almost before Dean complied, sliding into the hot wetness with a groan. “So hot.” 

He wouldn’t last long, not like this…he pushed harder and Dean groaned. Sam cried out as the sensation traveled up his cock, into his body. His eyes slipped to Dean’s face and he regretted it as the walls crashed around him and he could feel himself in Dean’s place, feel the fear and pain and shame and Sam pulled out, pulled away, stumbling back until his knees hit the bed and he crashed down onto it.

Sam rolled into a ball, holding his cock with both hands, his face red with the effort to keep from crying, to keep from remembering. 

“Sam?” 

Dean’s voice was soft, cold against the heat of his skin and Sam shook his head. Dean’s hand touched his back, stroking down his spine. “Sam…are you okay?” Kisses followed fingers and Sam jerked away from the tenderness of it.

“No…no…just…god, I’m sorry. Dean….” Sam rolled over, grabbing Dean’s hands and holding them. 

“Shh. It’s okay.” Dean kissed him lightly. “It’s okay.”

Sam shook his head. “No...no…I didn’t, I shouldn’t…its why, why I’m in control….so I don’t have to remember…why I don’t…” He shuddered. 

Dean knelt beside the bed, letting Sam hold his hands. “You don’t have to, Sam.”

Sam nodded, then shook his head, opening his eyes. “I was…they used demons to punish me. When I was little, it was the closet.” His stomach twisted as he remembered. “But…I—when I was older—“ His voice cracked as it flooded into him, the night he had first stood up to his father, when he had fought back…the beating had been bad enough…but then he’d watched his father open himself up to the demon, watched his eyes go black…and Sam shuddered, tears streaming unchecked…

Dean climbed up next to him on the bed, gathering him up in gentle arms. Sam let Dean settle his head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me, Sam.”

Sam nestled closer. “She told me that if I keep it all inside it will kill me,” he said softly. He wiped tears away and took a deep breath. “I’ve locked it away. I buried it. I didn’t know how else to handle it. And I…I became…I dominated everyone else, to find the power he took away.”

He was quiet for a moment, weighing the need to hide it away again, and the desperate need he felt for Dean to love him, to want him. He wasn’t even sure when it had become so powerful. Slowly, he sat up. “Can I trust you, Dean?”

Dean stilled, his hand on Sam’s thigh. “I would never hurt you Sam, not…without reason.”

Sam shook his head. “No…that isn’t what I meant. I have to…say it…I have to…” He blew out a long breath and closed his eyes. “I was thirteen the first time. I was home from school for the Christmas break. It was my first year away and I came back determined not to let him push me around anymore.”

Dean’s hand caressed his thigh as he spoke and Sam closed his eyes. “I don’t even remember what the fight was about. But I remember I looked him in the eye. I never did that. He hit me. Knocked me down.” Sam’s voice was more of a drone, as he disconnected from the memory, his face slack and pale. “We were in the hall, and he dragged me down to the temple room. I knew I was in more trouble than before. He never let me in there.”

Sam shifted, remembering the heat in the room, the smell of sulfur, the taste of blood in his mouth. “I was already tall, almost as tall as he was. I fought back at first, but it only made it worse. I thought the closet was bad. I have scars…but this was worse. I could tell the demons in the room weren’t the same as the ones in the closet. These were…stronger, older…and then he was mumbling Latin and he opened his mouth, and they just…went into him.”

Sam rubbed his hands together, looking off into the corner of the room. “He told me…told me he didn’t have to make my life so easy…didn’t have to give me anything more than what kept me alive. He…he used my mouth that day. Called me a…called me names.”

“God, Sam…” Dean sat up, his hand brushing gently over Sam’s tear soaked face. “Sam…I’m so sorry…I…god, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you don’t hate me.” Sam’s green eyes were watery and bright as they met Dean’s. “Tell me…you won’t…won’t leave me.”

Dean leaned forward, his lips brushing over Sam’s tenderly. “Not going anywhere. You are safe here. I promise you.” He let his hand brush down over Sam’s shoulder, down to his thigh. “Lay down, Sam. You should rest…sleep.”

Sam nodded, letting Dean guide him back down to lay with his head on the pillow. Dean moved as if to get up, but Sam stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Stay?”

Dean looked down at him for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. Slide over.” Sam made room and Dean settled in beside him. “I’m right here, Sammy.” Sam sighed and curled into Dean, his head on Dean’s chest, his breath stuttering over Dean’s skin. “Right here. Sleep.”


	15. Chapter 15

Dean shivered. He’d never felt so cold. Sam was asleep, finally. Dean sat in the window seat watching him, afraid to leave the room. His head was reeling. Sam…the fact that Sam had trusted him enough to tell him…to give him that….

Dean shook his head and sighed. It had been easier just to be angry, to not know how Sam had gotten to be…the way he was. It was easier to just deal with what he’d done. Now, now Dean had to deal with what had been done to him as well.

It pushed him, right out of the place where he craved Sam’s touch, into this odd protective, big brother space that was…hard to accept in light of the things they’d been through. He shivered again, watching the wind blow through barren trees outside the window. 

Sam tossed in the bed, his hair plastered to his head with sweat and Dean couldn’t begin to guess what he was dreaming. In fact, he didn’t want to know. He knew too much already, and his mind, knowing what evil the darkness held, filled in all the colorful details. He had gone from sad and sympathetic to frightened to angry. He hit his head lightly against the wall and exhaled. 

He’d held Sam like he was a child until he’d drifted off, then paced the room for quite a while before settling into the window. There was a soft knock on the door, and his father’s face appeared there. Dean held up his hand and crossed the room, gesturing for his father to move out into the hallway before following him and easing the door closed. 

He sighed and leaned against the door. “I just…he’s only been asleep for a little while. Didn’t want you to wake him.”

John nodded, his eyes hooded and guarded. “Is he okay?”

Dean sighed again, deep, running a hand over his eyes as he tried to find the words. “I don’t know. He…the things he told me. God Dad…I’ve seen some terrible, evil, disgusting things…but…”

John took a deep breath and let it out. “Tell me.”

Dean looked up at him with tears in his eyes. “I don’t know if I could, Dad. I—“ He rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Let’s go downstairs, let him sleep.”

“Yeah, okay. Missouri sent me up to fetch you anyway. She said she needed to see you.”

 

“Are you okay?” Missouri asked without preamble as Dean joined her in her den. A client had just left and her perfume still hung in the air.

Dean nodded automatically, but fell into the chair and shrugged. “I—don’t know.”

Her hand was warm as she touched him. It only reminded him of the chill that had settled over him. “He told me…terrible things.”

She nodded. “He has more to tell, Dean. He needs you.”

Dean shivered and avoided looking at her. “I can’t. I can’t be what he needs.” His head hurt, now that the intensity of the moment had passed. He rubbed at his temples and sighed. 

“You are the center of this family, Dean. You are the glue that will hold it together, or let it fall apart. Now, I know that’s a lot to lay on your shoulders, but there it is.”

Dean collapsed backward in the chair, crossing his arms in an attempt to draw in some of his body heat. “I don’t know what to do. I just…don’t.”

“Maybe you’re just trying too hard. You know? Maybe you should just take each moment as it comes. Stop thinking about it so much.”

Dean nodded miserably. Thinking had never really been where he was strongest anyway. “Maybe.”

“Now, I have a list of things. If you guys are planning on staying, I need you and your Daddy to run to the store.” She lifted a finger as Dean started to protest. “Sam will be sleeping for a while and Dana just went down for a nap. I don’t have any clients coming for the next hour or so. We’ll be fine.”

She handed him the list and stood up. “Go on now. I’ll have lunch waiting when you get back.”

 

John Winchester was not a man who was easily fooled, and that went double where the subject in question was his son. He knew Dean was keeping information from him, both about Sam and about the things Sam had done to Dean. His boy was strong and wouldn’t fall for a whammy the likes of which Sam had laid on him easily.

He had his suspicions. He’d come back to the motel several of those nights and the room had smelled of sex. Of course, that didn’t have to mean…it could have just been Dean getting himself in hand. But there was something in Sam’s eyes when he looked at Dean. Something about the way Dean reacted when Sam said his name.

Missouri wouldn’t tell him, but he was sure she knew In fact, Dean spoke a lot less than normal these days. As they finished loading the groceries in with the baby supplies and other things Missouri wanted, and the dark clouds started to spit out an icy rain, John slipped into the car beside his son, trying to figure out just how to broach the subject.

He didn’t have to. Dean didn’t even start the car, didn’t look at him, just spoke. “I have to say something.” 

“Dean—“

Dean shook his head. “No. Just, let me say it. You deserve to know.” He glanced up at John quickly, then looked away. “You won’t like it.”

“I’m listening.”

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. “When we met, Sam…seduced me. I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face.” He let his head rest against the back of the seat, his eyes closed. “It was just…after-hunt energy. It was never meant to be more.”

John controlled his breathing carefully. He’d known for a long time that his son wasn’t completely straight, had watched from the shadows after more than one hunt as he flirted with boys before disappearing into dark alleys with them. 

“That was why…I mean, the compulsion, that was why it was so strong. It started with sex…with something I wanted. I gave him permission….I mean, I didn’t know…but…” Dean’s voice sounded tired, heavy. “I know it’s completely fucked up, and I don’t pretend to understand it completely…but I love him.”

“You hardly know him.”

Dean nodded. “I know.”

“It could be just the compulsion.”

“No…that is an obedience thing. I’ve done the research, Dad. It taps into emotions already there…it can’t create them.”

They sat and listened to the rain for a moment. John wasn’t sure if he was glad to finally know or if the very idea of Dean at the mercy of that man…He shook his head. That man that was his son. He sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to say. Or how to feel.”

Dean actually chuckled at that. “Join the club.”

Dean was quiet then, staring at the ceiling of the Impala. John waited, his big hands folded in his lap. “I’m so tired, Dad.” Dean said finally, his hands covering his face. “He’s my little brother, and I…want to help him. But damn I’m tired.” He turned to look at his father. “How weirded out are you?”

John sighed. “Dean.” He didn’t know what else to say. “I’ve…always known you weren’t…straight, not completely anyway. But…”

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded. “I know. This is different.”

“He’s my boy…but he’s hurt you. He’s responsible for hurting others. We don’t even know what all he’s done. And that’s not even broaching the subject of the sex.”

Dean nodded. “He’s done some pretty terrible things, and we don’t know a third of them. He was raised with a very skewed sense of what was right and wrong. But Dad, we aren’t angels. Or do I need to remind you about the stealing and lying and scams?”

“No.” John turned to look out the window at the rain. “What do you want from me, Dean?”

It took a minute, and John could almost feel Dean weighing something in his mind. When he finally did speak, his voice was very quiet and he didn’t look at his father. “He was raped, Dad.” Something inside of him broke. He couldn’t reconcile the innocent infant he’d held in his arms all those years ago with Dean’s words. “By demons. As a punishment.” Dean rubbed his hands over his face. “Not just once. Every time he exerted control over his life, they punished him…like that.”

John felt the tears and willed them away. He didn’t want to cry anymore. He’d cried for hours after leaving Sam’s room the night before. Cried for everything that could have been. He wanted to be empty. Wanted to let go of it all.

Dean shook his head and sat up, reaching for the keys. “He was thirteen.” Dean’s voice cracked and he wiped away the tears before turning on the ignition. “I just thought you should know.”

They were half way back to Missouri’s house when John finally found his voice. “Thank you. For telling me.”

Dean only nodded.

 

Sam was awake and downstairs when they came in, arms loaded with bags. Dana was on the floor at Sam’s feet, laying on a blanket surrounded by stuffed animals and rattles. Sam smiled hesitantly as they came in, then dropped his eyes back to the floor. 

Missouri came bustling out of the kitchen to help, declaring that lunch would be ready shortly. Dean dropped his bags and left his father and Missouri to take care of them, moving to stand beside Sam and watch his daughter. She giggled and shook a toy in his general direction, then threw it at Sam’s feet. 

“Her new favorite game.” Sam said, his voice a little gravelly. “She’s thrown almost everything on the blanket at me once.”

“Maybe she’s trying to get you to play with her.” Dean said, taking the toy and holding it above Dana. She giggled and reached for it and when he put it in her hands, she threw it back at Sam. Dean chuckled. “Yep, I think she wants you to play.”

Sam looked at his large hands, then down at the baby. “I don’t have the first clue what to do with babies.” 

Dean knelt with one knee on the blanket and picked up the toy again. The silly dog was all plastic face, the better for teething, and soft terry cloth, with impossibly big ears and paws. “Heh…it looks like you.” Dean said, holding it up to Sam’s face and dancing it around until he smiled. “Babies aren’t hard Sam. They just take some attention.”

Dean held the toy out to Dana, dancing it around in front of her. Her eyes followed the dog, then flicked toward Sam. Dean nodded, handing the dog to Sam. “Here, you entertain her. I should go help get lunch on the table.”

“Dean…don’t…I—“ But Dean was already gone, leaving Sam and the dog and Dana. Sam sighed and looked down at the baby. “I’ve never been around kids before,” he said. “So I don’t know how this goes.”

Dana gurgled, her feet kicking the air around her as hands closed on another toy, something that made noise. She shook it and giggled, then threw it, hitting Sam on the knee. “Oh, you think that’s funny?” Sam put the dog on her tummy and tickled and she laughed so hard she squealed, bringing Dean back to the door. Sam looked up, his smile brilliant. 

 

Lunch was a quiet affair, with most of the conversation coming from Dana. Dean held her in his lap and fed her peaches and cereal while eating his sandwich. As Sam finished, he grabbed his plate and put it in the sink. “I’m going to go lay down, if no one minds. I didn’t sleep much.”

“You go on Sam. Don’t you worry about us.” Missouri said. She rose and swept him into a hug, bringing a flustered blush to Sam’s face. He threw a half smile Dean’s way and left the room. “Things are going to get ugly in this house.”

Dean looked up sharply. “Why? What do you mean?”

Missouri shook her head. “I don’t know the specifics, but he’s brewing a nasty meltdown…and it’s all tied up with his powers, and the suppression. That demon that kept him under wraps is dead?”

Dean nodded, taking his napkin out of Dana’s hands and mouth and setting it out of reach. “Yeah. Dead and gone.”

“You sure?”

“I put three bullets from the colt into him. That gun will kill anything.”

She nodded. “Most folks who’s gifted, they get their calling when they come into puberty, 13 or 14, and the gifts grow with them. For those like Sam, with that kind of power, it’s important. Too much too fast and they can hurt themselves…or those around them.”

She cleared her plate and leaned against the counter. “We gonna have the same problem with the baby, I’m afraid.” 

Dean shifted Dana in his lap. “Why?”

Missouri shook her head. “The baptism. It opened her up like she was full grown. I can’t tell the extent of her power, but Sam’s nightmare earlier woke her. And there’s the floating rattle trick.”

“The what?” John looked from Dana to Missouri and back again. 

“She levitated a rattle while you were gone. I was changing her diaper.”

Dean held her up to look at her, and she smiled with a mouthful of cereal, dropping half of it into Dean’s lap. “Nice.”

John laughed and reached for her. “Give me my granddaughter.”

“I’m going to go change. See if you can keep her from…levitating anything else while I’m gone.”

Missouri was quiet for a moment while John fed Dana. “I think she’s got a connection to that boy. A blood bond. He’s gonna have to learn to control himself, or risk hurting her.”

 

Dean paused in the hall between his room and Sam’s. Sam hadn’t been upstairs but for a few minutes, but Dean could hear sounds of distress coming from his room. He slipped into the room and over to the bed. Sam’s face was screwed up like he was in pain.

Dean leaned over to brush the hair out of Sam’s eyes and sat slowly on the edge of the bed. Sam’s sweatpants were slanted, revealing one narrow hip and Dean licked his lips, letting his hand wander down from his forehead to that narrow strip of flesh. His body stirred, his face evened out. Dean smiled, an idea forming.

With a glance over his shoulder to be sure he’d shut the door, Dean hooked a finger under Sam’s pants and tugged lightly, just far enough to expose his cock. It was flaccid, lying against his thigh. Dean shifted so that he could breathe across it, hot, moist air against the skin. It stirred, and Dean followed with a light stroke with a single finger. Sam’s face eased a little more, his breathing changing. He smiled, moving to his knees and using his tongue now, circling it ever so lightly over the crown of Sam’s cock, ducking under the head to tease the tender spot, then closing his lips over just the head and sucking lightly. 

He was rewarded by a definite hardening, pushing more of the cock into his mouth. Sam jerked awake, breathing hard. “Dean?” 

“Shh. Relax.” Dean whispered before closing his mouth over him again and sucking him in. 

“Dean, what—“

Dean’s fingers pressed against his lips to shush him. Sam pulled his hand away and half sat up. “Dean, what are you doing?”

Dean let Sam’s cock fall from his mouth. “I thought that would be obvious.”

“I didn’t…ask…didn’t…” 

Dean smiled at his confusion, letting his hand close over Sam’s now nearly full cock. “I want to. I’ve been think about it all morning. May I?”

“Dean…I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Dean turned his attention to licking over the underside and Sam moaned. “No advantage. Me, wanting.”

“But, I—“

Dean rose up and kissed him. “No, buts. I want. I’m asking you if you will allow me to suck your cock.”

Sam huffed, his hands on Dean’s face, then in his hair, then guiding Dean back to where his cock arched up toward his belly. “Fuck.”

“If you insist.” Dean said wickedly, opening his mouth and swallowing Sam completely. Sam thrust upward and Dean sucked his way back to the tip, then opened his throat for Sam’s thrust. 

“Dean…” Sam moaned his name like it was a dirty word and Dean slipped a hand under his chin to fondle his balls. “Yeah, baby…yeah…” 

Dean moaned around his cock, his tongue cupping the underside as Sam fucked into him. His fingers fisted in Dean’s hair and Dean knew he was close. “Fuck.” 

Dean felt Sam clench under him, his muscles going tight and still and Dean sealed his mouth over him, swallowing rapidly as he came. As the flow tapered off, Dean licked his way up to the tip, then licked his lips and smiled lazily at Sam. “Better?”

Sam reached for him and Dean climbed up, letting Sam pull him down into the bed with him. “Always when you’re near.”

“Then I should stay.” Dean nestled with his head under Sam’s chin, letting Sam fold his arm over him and forgetting all about the baby food on his jeans.

“Forever.” Sam whispered, already on his way back toward sleep.

“Forever.” Dean echoed, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. For the first time all day, he wasn’t cold.


	16. Chapter 16

Sam woke as the late afternoon rain was fading, and the sun poking out of dark clouds weakly painted the small room in shades of purple and grey. He lay still for a while, listening to the quiet. He was wrung out, his emotions stamped down into a numbness that left him uncertain of himself.

Dreams and nightmares reminded him of his place, called him home. He dreamt of the woman who he’d known as his mother, and her invitation to come back. Her eyes had glowed gold. All he had to do to be welcomed back to the fold is steal the child, bring Dana with him. It wouldn’t even be hard. 

Sam shook his head and got out of the bed. Outside the window the world seemed wet and grey. In Boston it would be white, covered in snow. He could be skiing with friends. He could be fucking his way through a ski lodge somewhere. 

Instead he was here, in some backwater town in Kansas, of all places. Of all the places. It was one more state he could add to the list. It left South Dakota and Alabama as the only states he’d never been to.

Sam sank into the window seat and rubbed at his face. He needed to clear his head. The last of the drugs were out of his system, but the psychic had opened doors inside him he’d never meant to be opened, and this thing with Dean was adding indecision, clouding his judgment. He needed a shower and a shave. He needed some time alone, without the feeling of them pressing in on him.

He roused himself to do those things, wandering down to the bathroom to let the water warm while he rummaged for towels. As the room filled with steam, Sam picked up Dean’s razor and looked into the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, and he almost didn’t recognize himself. “What are you doing?” he asked himself.

When he didn’t answer, Sam shaved quickly and stepped into the shower. “You don’t belong there.” She had said it in his dream. “They can never love the true you.”

Sam shook his head under the water and rubbed soap over his arms. Dean had been furious when he’d gotten a glimpse of who Sam was. John had threatened him. Sam still wasn’t much more than a prisoner. He certainly wasn’t a part of this fucked up family, no matter what Dean said.

As the water chilled, Sam stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around him, then grabbed a second towel to dry his hair. He wiped off the mirror and stared at himself again for a minute. With the days and days of facial hair gone, he suddenly looked younger than his almost 23 years. He looked like he had at 17. 

At seventeen, Sam had graduated from a private high school at the top of his class, had his own group of friends that rivaled his father’s and for the first time was able to stand up against him and walk away from it. It had been a turning point. He’d walked into the temple room on his own for the first time. Offered his own gift, summoned the Demon himself. 

With a deep breath, Sam turned from the mirror, returning to his room to dress. Dean had brought up a bag of clothes he said should fit him. Salvation army clothes, but better than the sweatpants he’d worn since his capture.

Sam found a pair of jeans and pulled them on, before pulling a brush through his hair.

“Going somewhere?”

Sam half turned toward the voice, already shrugging. “Thought I’d take a walk.” He moved back to the bed where the bag was spilling out over the rumpled blankets. “Clear my head.”

Dean leaned against the door and nodded. “Want company?”

Sam shook his head, his jaw jutting out as he looked up. “No. I need…to be alone.”

“Fair enough. We didn’t see any sign of demon activity in the area, so you’re probably safe.”

Sam nodded, then pulled on a t-shirt and a sweatshirt. “You should take a coat, you can use mine.” Dean added. “Its getting cold out there.”

“What are you, my mother?”

Dean’s smile faded and he shifted uncomfortably. “Sam?”

Sam shook his head. “Never mind. I’m…I just need some space.”

“Okay. I’ll be downstairs.”

Sam sank onto the bed and reached for his shoes. “Yeah, smooth.” He waited a few minutes, then got up and headed down the stairs. John looked up from his book, but Dean kept his attention on Dana, holding the same silly dog toy while she pulled at its feet.

“I—I won’t be long.” Sam said, slipping Dean’s coat on. 

“Watch yourself. It gets mighty dark around here.” John said, before turning his attention back to his book.

Sam let himself out onto the porch and paused. He hadn’t actually expected it to be that easy. The evening was already subtracting heat from the air. He stuffed his hands in Dean’s pockets and set out. He didn’t know where he was going, exactly. Just somewhere else. Somewhere with significantly less Winchester.

 

John waited until he could no longer hear the crunch of Sam’s steps on the gravel in the driveway before looking up at Dean. “Is he okay out there alone?”

Dean raised both eyebrows and shook his head. “Honestly? I don’t know.” Dana bounced in his lap, her hands dragging his thumb to her mouth. “We can’t keep holding him here though. Eventually he has to make choices.”

John nodded thoughtfully. “And if those choices endanger you or Dana?”

Dean was quiet. He didn’t want to think about it. Sam had changed, he could feel it. He probably would never be an angel, but…Dean shook his head again. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe one of us should follow him.”

Dean looked up, out the window. “No. Give him this.”

John nodded, then returned to his book. Dean watched out the window a while longer, until Dana’s tiny hands touched his face and he smiled for her, watching her eyes sparkle as she giggled.

 

Sam didn’t know the town, or the streets, having slept most of the way into it, and he had never seen the house before, but standing there in front of it, Sam knew. He stood at the end of the driveway and looked at it. This was where it all happened. Where he lost one family and gained…demons.

The house pulled at him, it’s empty windows calling to him. He could feel that there were spirits in the area, maybe even in the house. Maybe even her. Breathing in the crisp night air, Sam picked the lock and let himself inside.

It looked like someone was moving in…or out. Boxes were stacked along one wall in the living room, but there was no furniture. He trailed a hand over the wall as he moved. It seemed as though it should feel familiar, but it didn’t. Up the stairs, where family pictures were achingly absent and he closed his eyes, letting instinct guide him.

The smell of smoke wafted toward him and he followed it, half expecting to push open the door of the room where he once slept and find it ablaze. There was no fire though, only a broken old crib and the shape of a woman. 

For a moment, his chest seized up. He couldn’t remember her face, had never seen a picture…had never though to ask Dean…then she turned and his heart froze. This was no ghost of the long dead mother he had cried out for so often as a child. “Hello Sam.”

Her eyes glowed yellow and he had to force himself to enter the room. “What do you want?”

She made a placating sound and turned to face him completely. “Is that any way to talk to your mother, Sam?”

Sam cocked his head at her. “You aren’t my mother.”

“Are you sure about that?” She moved toward him and he felt himself sliding toward the wall. “Maybe I’ve been in here all along, waiting for my turn.”

Sam dug in and pushed back, surprised when her eyes shot open wider and he stopped moving. “Even so, that body had nothing to do with me.”

“Not that it didn’t want to.” Her fingers ran over her cleavage and he forcefully looked away. 

“What do you want?” Sam asked again, pushing harder until the pressure popped and he felt her release him.

“My brother was…hasty, haughty. Look what it got him. Dead.” She came closer, reaching up to run a hand down his face. “If he had worried a little less about John Winchester and a little more about getting the job done, he would be corporeal now, instead of dead.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You had Dean well enough in hand, and he already had the infant. Nothing should have stopped him.”

Sam shook his head. “John Winchester did nothing to stop that ritual.”

She smiled. “Of course not. But he didn’t need to be there. All he needed was you…” She ran a finger down his jaw line. “…the baby…and Dean…well, and the mother, but he had her.”

Sam’s face clouded. “Dean? What did he need Dean for?”

Her smile was wicked. “Children have mothers and fathers, Sam. Both are required to make a life. Both are required for life to be reborn.”

Sam’s head spun. “What do you want from me?” he finally asked when it appeared she wasn’t going to offer him anymore information.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sam shook his head. “I want what he wanted.”

Sam scowled. “The time is past, she’s older than—“

“Only the baptism must be done on that night Sam. Once the vessel is prepared, we have a year to use it. Bring her to me. Bring them both to me.” She turned, her eyes glowing in the dark of the house. “Bring them and the gun and all that my brother promised you is yours.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. I may have been naïve to believe him, but I’m not stupid enough to do it twice.”

“No?” She raised an eyebrow and was suddenly right in front of him again. Her hand grabbed his right wrist, her fingers twining in the leather around his wrist. “Do you forget you made a blood oath? Do you forget what you were given already in exchange? Look at you. Do you think they will want you like that?”

He tried to pull it away, but she snapped the leather and he sagged as the magic left him. Sam curled his arm in, under his jacket, tears stinging his eyes as the pain lanced through it, through his face and side, down his leg. The glamour that had hidden his secret faded and she vanished, leaving Sam kneeling on the floor, cradling his arm, reliving the night of his most savage punishment. It took him nearly an hour to harness his emotions in again, dry his tears and bringing himself to his feet. 

He shuffled to the bathroom down the hall, his jaw set in a hard line. He didn’t look at it so much as he looked at the hair he combed over it with his fingers. He turned up the collar of the jacket, made sure the sleeve covered to his wrist and stuck his hand into his pocket. 

He stalked back the way he’d come, seething with rage and pain. 

When he reached Missouri’s house he paused. They were still there in the living room. He set his face in a scowl and headed in, brushing past them and bounding up the stairs. He reached his room before he heard Dean’s voice calling his name. He ignored it, closing the door and stalking into the room, pacing with pent up energy. 

“Go away,” he said harshly before Dean even knocked on the door.

He did anyway, opening it and poking his head in. “Sam?”

“Go the fuck away Dean.”

He took a step back and stopped. “What happened?”

Sam turned so that his right side was hidden from Dean, his eyes burning. “Nothing happened. I’m just…I want to be alone.”

Dean was in the room now, his presence pressing into Sam, suffocating and close. He took a step back and Sam took a shaky breath. “You’re angry.”

“And I thought I was the psychic.” Sam ran a hand over his face. 

“Let me help.”

Sam twitched, turning his head toward Dean. “Go away, Dean.” He smiled as the compulsion forced Dean back a step. He was outside the door now.

“Sam.”

Sam’s hand came up and the door slammed shut. “Leave me alone.”

 

Dean’s step on the stair was heavy and both Missouri and John looked up expectantly. Dean’s face was pale and drawn. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

“He was in pain.” Missouri offered, setting aside her knitting.

“He was angry. He slammed the door in my face.” Dean looked up at them. “From across the room.”

Missouri clucked with her tongue. “Its starting.”

“What is?” Dean leaned against the wall. He was tired of not having an enemy to fight. 

“His gifts. They’re exploding. He probably didn’t even realize he’d done it.”

“What pain?” John asked suddenly. “You said he was in pain.”

Missouri shook her head. “I don’t know. He went by pretty fast.”

“I’m going up.” John stood.

“I’m not so sure—“Dean started, but he stopped when he saw the look on his father’s face.

“He’s my son and he’s in pain. He has power that could hurt the rest of us. He needs to learn how to handle this.” John bounded up the stairs and knocked at the door. “Sam. I’d like to talk to you.”

He didn’t get an answer, so he opened the door and slipped inside. Like the last time, Sam was sitting in the window seat, a dark figure against the pale light of a moon that danced in and out of clouds. “Sam?”

Sam’s head leaned back against the wall. Whatever rage had been driving him seemed to have faded. “Don’t you people know what alone means?”

John smiled. “Winchesters take care of each other. You should get used to it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’m not leaving.” John stepped further into the room.

“Maybe I will.” Sam said, his voice cold. “I don’t belong here. I’m not the person you want me to be.”

John shoved his big hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t want you to be anyone Sam. I just want to know you.”

Sam turned his face away, staring out the window. “He does. He expects me to transform into some do-gooder like him.”

John knew he meant Dean, and as uncomfortable as the topic made him, he nodded and stepped still closer. “Dean loves you. Despite everything you’ve done to him. I don’t think he’s got any expectations.”

They were quiet for a minute before Sam looked up at him. “I went to the house.”

That caught John off guard. He gasped and looked at Sam in horror. “I don’t know how I knew. I just did. I—“ Sam swallowed, his left hand rising to adjust his clothes over his right shoulder and arm. “I wanted to see. I wanted to know.”

“Know what?”

“I wanted it to be her. But it wasn’t.”

John held his breath. “Who, Sam?”

“It wasn’t her. I wanted it to be her. I’ve always wanted it to be her.” Sam looked up at him, his eyes dark in the gloom of the room. “Instead of the spirit of my mother, I found a demon dressed up in the body of the woman who raised me.”

John came closer and Sam held up his hand to stop him. “No. I’m fine.”

“You’re in pain.”

Sam nodded. “Yes. I am. But it isn’t so bad anymore. It isn’t new…I’d just…managed to forget.”

“I don’t understand.”

Sam looked down at his right hand, hidden from John by his knee. “Do you want to?” The question was soft and felt like an opening. 

John took a deep breath and nodded. “If you are ready to tell me.”

Sam’s eyes met his. “I’ll show you. Get the lights.” Sam stood as John crossed back to the door and the light switch. He slipped Dean’s jacket off and set it on the seat. The sweatshirt came next, and the t-shirt last. He blinked a little as the lights came on, cringing and instinctively turning his damaged side away.

John waited, trusting that this was something Sam needed to do in his own time. “I don’t want this to be big and dramatic.” Sam said. “I’m not like some Lifetime movie.”

John chuckled and nodded. “Okay.”

“I told you about the punishment closet.”

“I remember.”

“I assume Dean told you about…the other stuff.”

John had to clear his throat before he could say, “Yes.”

Sam nodded. “When I was 16, I was home for summer. I was…rebellious. My father caught me with the daughter of one of our maids. The help was strictly forbidden. I could screw anything I could get into my bed, as long as they didn’t work for him. In fact, I was encouraged to screw around. Apparently they had plans for the girl I wasn’t aware of.” 

He took a deep breath. “My punishment was…excruciating. Ever heard of Harriers?” He sort of smiled when John shook his head. “Not surprised. They’re a special breed. Used almost only by folks like the old man. Half-breeds. Young ones are just corporeal enough to leave bite marks and scratches. Older ones, they’re corporeal enough for a whole lot more.”

Slowly, Sam turned, taking a few steps toward John. “I got locked in a room with 20 of them. For 3 days.”

John gasped as Sam stopped in front of him, his hand rising to ghost over the scars that ran from Sam’s right ear, down his neck, shoulder, chest…down his arm and side and disappeared under his jeans. Red, raised flesh butted against concaved, puckered skin. “Dear God.” John murmured and Sam nodded. There were marks that looked like claws, and others that looked like teeth. The shoulder seemed pinched, deep marks of large claws looking like they’d tried to tear the arm completely off.

“By the time it was over, I’d lost nearly as much blood as I did in the warehouse. I had been fucked raw, and my whole right side was so much meat.” He lifted his arm, and pointed to three large scars on his side. “The one that did this got killed for it. They were supposed to hurt me, mark me, scar me…put me in my place, not endanger my life.”

John turned him, examining the marks carefully, over his back and up into his hair. “Why haven’t we seen these before?”

Sam held up his right hand, palm up. There was another mark, a thin line over the wrist. “When I was 17, I came home from school and ended it. I made my own deal with the devil. In return, I was given back my…vanity. I wore a leather talisman on my wrist. It bound a glamour that kept it hidden, kept the pain away.”

“What happened tonight Sam?”

“My marker got called in.” He sank onto the bed. “I didn’t roll over and bow down.” He sighed. “She took the talisman.” He ran a shaking left hand through his hair. “She did it to get me to do what she wants, to go back to being the obedient boy.”

“What did she want?”

Sam wouldn’t look at him, swallowed and turned away. “She’ll give me everything. I swore to be obedient. I shed blood.”

“What is it Sam? What did she ask you to do?”

Sam shook his head. “I—I can’t tell you.”

John came to kneel in front of him, cupping a hand to Sam’s face, to the burn and scars. “You can. You can tell me anything.”

Tears slipped from Sam’s eyes. “Not…now. I need…time.”

John’s brown eyes searched Sam’s, but all he could see in them was a broken boy. “Okay. All right. Get some rest then.” John stood and headed for the door.

“John.” Sam’s voice stopped him and John turned. He’d never heard Sam use his name. “Is there…anymore of the sleeping…stuff?”

John shook his head lightly. “Maybe a little, why?”

“I just…think it might be safer. For right now.” Sam toed off his shoes and stood up to pull down the blankets on the bed. “I…don’t want to hurt someone.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll bring it up.”

“One more thing?” Sam let his eyes slip up to meet John’s again. “I don’t…I don’t want Dean to see this…to know.”

“Sam, he won’t care—“

“No, but I will. Please. For now.”

“Yeah, okay. You get into bed. I’ll be back.”

Sam slipped under the blankets, his head reeling. He could play John as long as he was vulnerable, the injured, wronged son looking for redemption. Dean wouldn’t be as easy anymore. Sam had done some pretty bad things in his service to demons. Delivered babies into the hands of foster parents much like his. This was different though. This was family. 

He didn’t know when that had started to matter, but it might have been when John touched him just then. No one but nurses and doctors had ever touched him there without the glamour. He wouldn’t show it, but a part of him had risen to that touch…the part of him that asked to be sedated so he wouldn’t hurt anyone.


	17. Chapter 17

“Fuck.”

Dean looked up at his father, the exclamation something unaccustomed in such a quiet moment. “Dad?”

John shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He looked up at Dean and with an expression that made Dean uneasy. He set down the knife he was sharpening and waited. 

“I was doing some research. Something Sam said.”

Dean waited. There had to be more.

John’s mouth was a thin line. “He told me about those demons they used to punish him. I’d never heard of them. Now I wish I never had.”

“What are they?”

John sighed and sank back on the couch, away from the computer. “He called them Harriers, named after the man who…created them. They’re hybrids. They’re also known as submission demons and punishers.”

John’s eyes closed and he tried to put the images of Sam’s scarred skin out of his mind. “They were bred to…serve a higher order demon, and are given to servants of demons to keep their…people in line.”

“What do they do?”

John sighed, looking at his son through dark lashes. “Punish. Their sole purpose is to punish the disobedient. They can read minds, use the person’s fears against them, and physically assault them.”

“Sounds bad.”

“The only way to stop them once they’ve started is by submitting.” John could imagine what 20 of them could do to a 16 year old boy, who’s entire existence is about resistance. It must have broken Sam in so many ways to stop fighting and take the punishment.

“He asked you to sedate him?” Dean asked, for maybe the third time since John had come back downstairs.

John nodded. “Yes. He was worried he might hurt someone.”

Dean shook his head. “I should go check on him.”

“Dean, I told you. He doesn’t want you to see him just yet.”

Dean sighed explosively. “Why? What happened?

“Its after midnight. Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Yeah, all right.” Dean got up, sheathing his knife and tucking it back into his boot. He bent over Dana’s playpen and pressed a kiss to his fingers, then to her forehead. “Night.”

At the top of the stairs, Dean stopped, staring at Sam’s door. After a long minute, he turned away from it and let himself into his room, shedding clothes as he went. By the time he reached the bed, he wore only his boxers and he slid into the fresh sheets. Sam had been so angry, yet had talked to his father. A part of Dean wondered what he’d done, despite his father’s reassurances. A part of him was jealous. Of his father.

Punching his pillow, Dean closed his eyes and forced his mind onto other things, willing away the need to cross the hall and climb into Sam’s bed to hold him. As angry as Sam had been, that would probably lead to getting hit.

 

Sam hovered outside Dean’s door, his body sweating, his hand hovering over the door knob. Fevered dreams of demons with glowing eyes and blood pouring out of him had chased him out of sleep and into the dark , craving.

He opened the bedroom door and closed it behind him. Dean was asleep with the blankets cast loosely aside, his naked torso splayed out over the bed. Sam licked his lips and pulled off his underwear, his cock already hard and wanting. He moved quietly, across the floor to stand beside the small bed. His hand ghosted over Dean’s skin.

Leaning forward, Sam whispered into Dean’s ear. “Keep your eyes closed.”

Dean stirred, stretching. “Sam?”

“Shh. Keep your eyes closed.” Dean nodded and Sam climbed up onto the bed, his hands roaming up Dean’s stomach and chest, up to his arms. He maneuvered his hands up to the wrought iron head board, wrapping his fingers around the middle posts. “Don’t let go.” Sam whispered. Dean nodded again, sleepily.

Sam kissed him then, forcing his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Slowly, Dean responded, as if he was still asleep. Sam’s hands find a nipple and squeezed and Dean moaned into Sam’s mouth. “There you are.” Sam whispered, his kisses moving now, sliding over Dean’s chin. The scrape of teeth over Dean’s throat brought a hiss and Sam licked over the spot before biting a second time. 

“Sam. What…”

Sam covered Dean’s mouth with a hand and whispered, “Want you, Dean. Want to fuck you.”

Sam felt Dean’s cock harden at his words and smiled. He bit down on the spot again and Dean moved under him. “Sam. God.”

Mouth over nipples, tongue, teeth, lips sucking and Sam’s hands ventured south to pull at Dean’s boxers. Dean lifted just enough to help Sam pull them off, then Sam’s hands rubbed over his thighs, blunt nails scraping over skin as he pushed them apart. Without warning, he stuck one finger inside Dean, making him gasp and arch up.

Sam’s mouth moved down, his tongue circling Dean’s navel, then moving into it, fucking it while his finger fucked Dean’s ass. Dean’s moved, spreading his legs a little further and moving his hips in time with Sam’s finger. “More.” Dean whispered. 

Sam grinned against his skin, his tongue soothing over hard muscle and bone as he added a second finger, pressing in and circling around, slowly working Dean open. Sam timed his next stroke with a long lick up Dean’s cock and Dean shivered. “Like that?” Sam asked in a whisper and Dean groaned.

Sam kissed his way up to his mouth, claiming it with teeth and tongue as Dean writhed under him. “Jesus Sam…do it.” 

Sam groaned and positioned himself…then reached up to grab Dean’s hands where they held the head board before thrusting in violently. The bed creaked and Dean rocked his hips, tilting them so that Sam slid straight into him in a single stroke. Sam’s hands were hard, white knuckled around Dean’s , but Dean didn’t seem to mind. 

Sam held himself inside of his brother, looking down at his face…eyes close, mouth open and gasping. “Want to keep you right here forever.” Sam whispered as he started moving, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. “Forever Dean. Mine.”

Dean’s cock was trapped between their bodies, rubbing between bellies and Sam felt him twitch. Sam flushed with heat as Dean opened even more, tilting his head, exposing the tender place under his ear. Sam licked and nibbled and Dean whimpered, and that was nearly all Sam could handle. “I’m going to come in your ass baby. Come with me.”

When Sam was spent, and sticky, he pulled back, pulled out. Dean lay still, only his chest moving as he panted. “So pretty.” Sam whispered. His right shoulder ached from the exertion and movement and he cradled the arm to him. “Sam?”

“Shh…just…keep your eyes closed Dean.”

“I want to see you.”

“No.” Sam’s voice cracked and he shook his head. “Not now. Go to sleep.”

He got up off the bed, his legs shaking and stumbled for his boxers, trusting the compulsion would keep Dean from opening his eyes, from seeing. Sam stopped and turned back to the bed. “Dean…When you look at me, you will see me the way I was when you first met me. Do you understand?”

“Sam? What?”

“Answer me.”

“Yes, I understand.”

Sam nodded, returning to sit on the side of the bed. “Open your eyes.” Dean did, slowly, blinking a few times before his gaze came to rest on Sam, who was watching him closely for any signs that he could see the scars, see him as something less than whole.

Dean’s hand moved to caress Sam’s thigh. “What was that about?” Dean asked, sitting up slowly. 

Sam shook his head with a passing frown. “Nothing.”

“You trying to hide something from me?”

“No, Dean. I—No.”

Deans eyes narrowed and Sam’s heart skipped a beat, thinking he could see past the illusion, that the compulsion wasn’t enough. “What happened tonight?”

“I-I ran into…let’s just say that the old man wasn’t the only demon host in the family. She…spooked me.” Sam closed his eyes when Dean’s finger’s caressed his cheek. “Did your father—our—did he tell you?”

Dean shook his head. “Not much. Said you would when you were ready.” Dean’s kiss was soft, his full lips tender on Sam’s. “You want to stay?”

“You should sleep.” Sam kissed the hand that Dean was stroking over his face and rose. “I have some things to think about.”

Sam paused at the door and looked back. Dean was nearly asleep already. Sam nodded and closed the door. He didn’t let himself think about it, about lying to him again. _You’re using him_.

“Shut up.” Sam whispered, though it was only a voice from a dream. 

_When he realizes it he’ll leave you._

“Get out of my head, bitch,” he whispered fervently, letting himself back into his room.

_You’ll be all alone. Again._

No. Sam shook his head and paced the room. No. He wasn’t alone anymore. The closet couldn’t hold him. The Harriers would have their hands full if they tried. No. He wasn’t the scared, lonely kid who gave in, who fell and fell and fell. He cradled his arm and fought against tears he didn’t want to shed. 

_They don’t love you. He only keeps you because you make him._

Sam doubled over, folding in on himself as he yelled out his fear and frustration and pain. All around him the room erupted into chaos, the windows imploded, the dresser flew into the wall and the bed lifted off the ground. As his knees hit the ground, his vision swam, memory and images of things to come, places he’d been and ones he’d never heard of crashed around him and he grabbed at his head. 

He could taste blood, feel the wind rushing around him. Light and dark and faces of the living and the dead circled him and he never heard the door crash open, never heard Dana’s screaming. A giant hand slammed across his jaw and his eyes fluttered open, briefly glimpsing John and Dean before he fell headlong into the dark.

 

“What was that?” Dean asked, bouncing Dana as she continued to cry nearly twenty minutes later. 

“Meltdown.” Missouri murmured, adjusting the ice pack held to her head. “I told you it would be ugly.”

John handed her a glass with whiskey. “You okay?”

She nodded. “What about her?” he asked Dean. 

Dean shifted Dana so he could see her face. Her eyes and face were red and her breathing was still jumpy, but she’d stopped whimpering. “I think she’s okay.” He wiped her cheeks with one hand. “Did he hurt you baby?”

She leaned forward, pressing her open mouth over his chin. He took a deep breath and looked to Missouri. “Any insight here?”

“She’ll be okay. Those things are frightening to me, and I’m a grown woman.”

“She saw…whatever it was he was seeing?”

Missouri nodded, sipping on her whiskey and making a face as it burned down her throat. “I hate to be one to suggest, but maybe its time you take her away.”

“Where?”

“Someplace far away from him”

“Sam wouldn’t hurt her.” Dean said. He rearranged Dana and moved to the couch to sit. He jumped when her dog toy, that had been lying on the coffee table was suddenly eye level. “Floating rattle trick?” He snatched it out of the air and gave it to Dana who instantly shoved its plastic face into her mouth.

John crossed his arms. “Maybe he would. Hurt her, I mean.”

Dean looked up sharply. “What?”

“He’s hiding something Dean. He wouldn’t tell me what that Demon wanted from him. What if what she wants is Dana?”

Dana threw the dog to the floor and giggled. Dean reached for it, but before his hand closed on it, it rose and the wet face slapped against his cheek. He made a face and grabbed it. “Stop that.”

Dana giggled, reaching for the dog again. Dean gave it to her and sighed. Dana sighed in echo and he pulled back to look at her. She smiled and waved her arms wildly, sending the dog flying again. “Now what are you gonna do?” Dean asked.

She clapped her hands and said, “Nanananananananananana,” with glee. 

Dean chuckled and looked back up at his father. “I—I can’t leave him, and I can’t let her go without me.”

“We could try sedating him again.” John offered.

“We don’t have anymore. We’d have to steal it.”

“Dean.” Missouri sat up suddenly, her eyes slightly unfocused. 

“What did I do now?” Dean mouthed to his father who only shrugged.

“You. It wants you.”

“Me?” Dean shifted Dana to his other leg. 

“He’s a little fuzzy on the details.”

“Sam?”

“Dreaming.” Missouri held up a hand. “She wants you, wants Sam to bring you home.”

Dean paled and looked up at his father. Sam had gone back to the place where they had all started, where Dean and his father had been left alone. “Why?”

“Not sure. Oh!” Her eyes closed and she sagged back into her chair. “There is some serious evil in that house.”

“Well, **that** I know how to deal with.” Dean said. 

“Dean, it’s the middle of the night. You aren’t going over there.”

Dean stood up and put Dana in her playpen. “You going to stop me, Dad? That **thing** is in our house.”

“It isn’t your house anymore, baby.” Missouri said from her chair. 

Dean’s jaw clenched and unclenched. When he showed no signs of backing down, John pulled himself up. “What did you have in mind?”

Dean nodded and looked around him. “Let’s go find out what’s in there and figure out how to kill it.”

“Simple recon.” John said, his eyes searching Dean’s. Dean nodded again, tightly. “Okay. Missouri, would you keep an eye on Dana? Sam should be out for a while, I really hit him.”

Missouri roused herself and came to lay a hand on each of their arms. “You two be careful. Remember this baby girl needs you…and so does the scared little boy upstairs.”

“I’ll drive.” Dean said around clenched teeth. This, at least, was something he understood, something he could fight.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean rubbed his hands together as he climbed back into the Impala, handing his father the shotgun. He shook his head. “EMF is off the charts, but from outside there’s no signs of anything in there.”

John leaned forward, looking around Dean at the house. Once upon a time, this was his home, the place he and Mary had chosen to raise their boys. He couldn’t look at it without seeing flames shooting out of the second story window. He exhaled slowly and scrubbed at his face with a hand that still ached from hitting Sam.

“What are you thinking, Dad?”

He glanced at Dean and smiled softly. “I was thinking about the day your mother and I bought this place. She was pregnant with you. We signed the papers and had a picnic on the floor in the living room. The very first piece of furniture we moved in was your crib.”

“You never told me that.”

John shrugged. “I never expected to be here again.”

Dean looked back at the house. “Hey, did you see that?”

“What?”

“Something, movement. Upstairs window.” Dean was half way out of the car when John’s hand caught his arm.

“You do realize we could be walking into a trap.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I do. Never stopped me before.”

John released him and got out. “You know, it’s a wonder you aren’t dead yet.”

Dean grinned, holding out his arms. “Hey, I’m that good.”

John chuckled, but shook his head. “No, you’re just that lucky.”

“Rock salt and blessed rounds?” Dean asked, moving to the trunk.

“Holy water too. If this is a demon…”

Dean pulled out a second shot gun, pocketing the salt rounds while he rummaged through the other stuff in the trunk. “What else would it be? I mean Sam said it was, right?”

John nodded, his eyes on the window of the room where he had last seen his wife, pinned to the ceiling, bleeding and burning. “Yeah, that’s what he said.”

“Okay, let’s go then.” Dean led the way across the street and up the stairs to the porch. He tested the door, then cocked his head. “Door’s open. Kinda creepy.”

He pushed it open and moved inside, John following. Dean signaled that he was moving toward the stairs and John nodded, tilting his head toward the kitchen. “Be careful.” John said almost silently and Dean lifted his chin before moving away.

Dean moved slowly, up the stairs, holding the shot gun ready. His jaw was starting to ache from the way he was clenching his teeth together. He blew out a short breath and tried to calm his heart, tried to tell himself it was just another hunt.

It wasn’t, but he tried to convince himself anyway. The upstairs hall was dark and he jumped when lights from a passing car floated over the wall. “Stupid,” he muttered and he shook off the panic that had crept into him. 

The door to what had been the nursery stood open, calling him and Dean swallowed. His last image of that room had been filled with flames, his father’s face, his mother’s screaming. He closed his eyes and told himself to get it together. 

The room was cold, at least ten degrees colder than the hall. The EMF reader in his pocket was squealing, though he didn’t need it to know _something_ was in that room. He sniffed at the ozone and adjusted his stance. “Come out, come out,” he whispered.

The closet door moved, popping open, then slowly swinging out. Dean stared into the dark recess, waiting. A black shape moved, separating itself from the dark around it only with moving. As it stepped out of the closet it burst into flames and Dean took a step backwards, raising the gun to sight down the barrel.

_Dean_

It came closer, moving erratically. Dean raised his chin and licked his lips. “That’s it, get closer, make it easier.” Only as it did, Dean started to see past the flames. “What the—“

_Dean_

The gun dipped a little and he felt tears rising in his eyes. “Fuck.” The flames grew brighter, then diminished, and as they faded away, Dean was left staring at the spirit of his mother. “Mom?” It came out as a strangled cry. All the years he’d been hunting, he’d never thought…never even considered. “Mom?”

Her hand rose between them and her face was sad. “My beautiful boy.” 

Dean dropped the gun, wanting to reach for her, wanting to feel her touch. She shook her head. “Can’t touch, Dean.”

“I know. I know.” He stepped toward her anyway, watching as she twitched to the side and back. “Mom.” His tears were fiery hot on his cheeks.

“You shouldn’t be here. I can’t protect you.”

“But, we…need to find this thing, before…”

She smiled and shook her head. “Always looking for the fight. You’re so like your father.” She moved back, looking over her shoulder. “They know you’ve come. You don’t have much time.”

“What do they want?”

“They want you, and your daughter. They want to bring evil into the world.”

“Mary?”

Dean turned to see his father in the door, tears in his eyes. “Oh my god, Mary.”

Her smile was still sad, but Dean saw something change in her face. “John.” She turned to him. “Get Dean out of here. They’re coming.”

“Mary.” Her hand moved over his face, not really touching, but he leaned into it as if she had touched him. “Mary.”

“Take care of my boys John Winchester.”

“Mom!” Dean yelled as the flames slowly enveloped her and she moved away, back toward the closet. “No!” He started to follow her, but his father’s arm caught him around the chest.

“Dean, we have to go.”

“No. No.” Dean struggled, but John held him and started manhandling him toward the door. “Dad, please.”

“She’s right Dean. We need to go.”

Dean let him pull him toward the stairs and down and out onto the porch. The door closed and Dean shivered. “Dad, it was Mom. How can we just walk away?”

John sighed and stepped off the porch. “Because we aren’t ready for this, Dean.”

Dean shivered again. “Did it just get colder?”

John turned back to look at him, and his face was suddenly white, his mouth open as he started to yell a warning. Dean turned, looking over his shoulder a half second too late as large, dark hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him backwards, into the house. The door slammed shut as John reached it, and the last thing Dean saw was his father’s face, screaming his name.

 

“Dean!” Sam sat up as the sound died on his lips, looking around him, half surprised to find himself in his bed. It was vivid and real and his heart was still pounding from the sight of Dean being pulled backwards into a dark house. The hands on Dean’s shoulders and hips were entirely too familiar for comfort. 

His jaw hurt as he swung his legs to the floor and stood. Dean was in trouble. He paced between the dresser and the bed, then rummaged through the bag on the floor for clothes. Jeans and a sweatshirt, shoes…he paused to look in the mirror at the bruise on his face. The one left from Dean’s fist a week or more ago was nearly gone, but the new one was in nearly the same place. It must be a family thing.

He got to the bottom of the stairs before her voice stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He turned. She sat nearby in her chair, watching him. “Dean’s in trouble.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“I have to help him.”

“Is going there right now the best way to do that?”

“I don’t know about best, but I have to do something.”

“You know what it wants, don’t you?”

Sam wouldn’t meet her eyes, his gaze skipping over to the playpen. “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.”

“I don’t—I never planned to give her, them.”

“Don’t try lying to me Samuel Winchester. I’m too far inside your head for that to work. I can see what you have and haven’t planned.”

“Missouri.”

She stood, leveling a gun at him. “You may be able to mess with your Daddy’s head and Dean’s but I see through you.”

“Then you have to help me, Missouri. Before there’s no other way.”

She shook her head and took a step closer. “Right now, the best thing you can do is sit down in that chair and wait for your father to come back.”

“I can’t do that. I know how to help him, but I have to go now, while it’s just the Harriers.”

She lifted the gun a little higher and he sank into the chair. “I know you think you can handle this, Sam. But she’s playing you. It’s playing you.”

He seethed in frustration. “Maybe, maybe she is. But do you know what those things can do to him? Take a good look at me, and tell me if this is what you want for him.”

Her eyes flicked to his arm and hand, then back to his face. For the first time he saw something in her eyes waver. “If you can see through me like you say, see this.” He held his arms out to the side. “I love Dean. I would rather die than see him put through the hell that I’ve seen. Maybe she—it—is playing me, maybe I will die.” He sighed and dropped his gaze. “If I sit here and wait, she’ll keep coming into my dreams, and what happened tonight will only be a taste. I’ll break. I’ll fall. I’ll submit.” He looked up at her. “You can see that, Missouri. Its what I do. What I’ve always done. Its what I was raised to be.”

Missouri blinked away tears, but held the gun steady. “And when I do, none of you will be safe.” Sam finished, sinking back into the chair and covering his face with his hands. 

The phone rang and they both jumped. Missouri picked up the phone, her eyes skimming over Sam. “John?” She nodded as he spoke. “I know. I know. We need to—No, I don’t think it’s wise.” There was a long pause, then Missouri held out the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

Sam looked up, surprised, then stood slowly. He took the phone from her and lifted it to his ear. “Yeah? I…saw. I tried to come, but—no, no you can’t. You don’t know how to handle—these are different. I know something. It might work. You won’t like it.” Sam was quiet, his eyes flicking from Missouri and the gun, to the playpen and back. “I’ll explain it better when I get there, but I’m going to need to bring Dana and Missouri.”

His eyes lifted to Missouri’s and held. “I swear to you, I will not willingly give any of you over to them. This is all my fault. Let me fix it.” He waited, his breathing shallow, waiting for John to shut him down, to take away his last chance. “Okay, give us a few minutes, I’ll need a few things. Talk to Missouri. Ask her nicely to put the gun away?”

 

Dean groaned, tasting blood as he turned his head. He was on the floor, and everything felt slanted. Grotesque feet moved past his face and he followed them until it forced him to roll over, grimacing as pain shot through his back. “Not good.” It felt like something had ripped through his skin.

He took a look around him, up at the stack of boxes on his left, and up to the three…demons, he supposed on his left. His father was no where in evidence. He breathed a little easier at the thought. It meant a rescue would be coming.

Dean rolled back onto his side to ease the pain in his back. He didn’t like that it put him with his back to the demons, but the idea of rolling completely to his other side didn’t seem like a good one. It would draw far too much attention. Especially if these were those nasty things his father had talked about…which was likely. He’d never seen anything like these.

“Dean Winchester.” Dean lifted his head as two feet in impossibly high heels approached him. He followed up bare legs to a short skirt, and up to well displayed cleavage and up to a mouth smiling obscenely under glowing gold eyes.

“Get up.”

Dean didn’t move and two of the demons lumbered over to draw him to his feet. “You will obey me, Dean.” She said as she approached. “My pets know how to ensure that you will.”

“I don’t have a real good relationship with authority.” Dean quipped. For his trouble, the demon on his left dug a sharp nail into his upper arm. Dean yelled and she smiled.

“I’m sure you’ll discover that doesn’t matter.” She came closer and ran a hand over his chest before she ripped open his shirt. “So pretty, I can see what Sam sees in you.”

“Go to hell, lady.”

Her smile was wicked as her hand came to rest on his skin. It slid down until it was over the scar that ran from his navel off to his left side. Her face was close to his as she whispered. “He was my son. He almost had you, didn’t he.”

Her touch burned and Dean gasped, turning his head to the side. “Why don’t you just get it over with?”

She pulled back to look at him. “Get what over with?”

“This. Just kill me and get it over with.” 

She laughed and paced away. “Oh no, Dean darling, I don’t want to kill you. Not yet anyway.” She turned back around, her face hot, her eyes glowing. “No, I want to break you. I want to teach you. I want you to give your daughter over to me and watch me be reborn.”

Her attention turned to the Harriers holding him. “We don’t have long to break him. Might as well get started.” 

Dean heard licking and turned to the ugly son of a bitch on his right. It was licking its lips. “Disgusting. You might consider a breath mint.”

“You have a smart mouth, Dean. We’ll have to see if we can’t fix that.” She circled around behind him. “Will you scream for me?” She stuck two fingers into one of the long slashes in his back and he did scream, his knees buckling and his vision swimming. “Very nice, Dean. Very nice indeed.”


	19. Chapter 19

Missouri wasn’t happy and Sam knew it. He could feel it. He shook his head and shoved the book and other bits of supplies onto the truck seat before climbing into the truck. “I can’t believe you don’t have asafoetida,” he mumbled. 

“I don’t consort with demons, so why would I need it?”

Sam sighed and pulled the door closed. “Its protective, the stink covers nearly anything…never mind. You had sulfur. It will have to work.”

“Are you planning to fill me in on this little plan of yours?”

Sam nodded and started the truck. “There isn’t time to explain. The page is marked.” He pointed to the book and started them out of the driveway. She picked it up and opened it, a gasp escaping her as she got an inkling what he was planning.

“Can you do this?”

Sam glanced aside at her and made a face. “I honestly don’t know. I didn’t even know it existed until I saw it in…your memory.”

She put the book down and looked at him. “You were in my head?”

“You’ve been in mine since I got here.”

“That’s different.”

“No its not. It doesn’t matter. I’m not a pure vessel. I’ve sworn a blood oath to a demon.”

Missouri followed his line of thought and the glance to Dana asleep on her shoulder. “But Dana is.”

He nodded. “She is still just an infant.” Missouri said.

“Okay. So, what I have in mind isn’t exactly the cleanest of magic.”

“What does that mean?”

Sam turned them around a corner and they could see John leaning on the Impala waiting for them. “Let me explain it just once, okay?”

He threw the truck into park and climbed out, bringing the supplies with him. He glanced at the house, but it was quiet. John came to them, taking Dana from Missouri and cradling her to his chest. “You better have a really good reason for bringing my granddaughter into this, boy.” John said, his voice dark.

Sam nodded, taking the book from Missouri and opening it the necessary page. “I do, sir.” He set the book on the hood of the Impala and sighed. “It isn’t going to be easy.”

He looked up at the house again. “Has there been any…signs from inside?”

John’s jaw worked several times. “Screaming. Dean, screaming.”

Sam ducked his head and took a few deep breaths. “She’s already there then. They wouldn’t touch him without…instructions. Do we know how many?”

John shook his head. “I saw two. But there could be more.”

Sam breathed out heavily and nodded. “Okay, here’s where I lay it all on the line.” He turned to John, meeting his eyes. “She’s expecting me to walk in there with Dana. She’s expecting me to help her achieve what the other one couldn’t. She thinks she knows me, thinks that my blood is tied to her.”

He picked up a knife, the same knife he had used to cut Dean to seal his hex. “Thing is, my blood and your blood, Dean’s blood and Dana’s blood…that’s stronger. At least I hope it is.”

John looked from the book to Missouri, to Sam. “I know you have no reason to, but I need you to trust me, John.” Sam met his eyes. “Dad.”

 

Dean had stopped screaming. There really wasn’t a point anymore. The floor was cool against his cheek. He’d remembered what his father said about these things, that to stop them he had to submit. It had been easier than he imagined, just letting go and doing what he was told. 

“See I knew you could be reasonable, Dean. So much more so than Sam. He’s so stubborn.”

He wanted to make a smart remark, to lash out…to fight back. Instead he lay still on the floor, listening as she walked around them. “Do you know how long it took him to figure out that if he just did as he was told, everything would be easier?”

She stopped in front of him, the toe of her shoe connecting with his chin and bringing his face up to look at him. Her eyes burned into him, like she could see everything inside him. “You think you can control this don’t you? You think that you can give in now, to the little things, and still fight back when it comes to the big ones. How terribly sweet.”

She moved away. “Your father is still out there, trying to figure out how to save you.” She laughed, a sound that seemed out of place in the strange silence of the house. “Maybe it would be fun to watch you kill him. Oh look, Sam’s here now too.”

Dean stirred at that, turning so he could see her figure against the window. “He’s brought the baby. How nice.”

 

Sam spared a glance over his shoulder at John and Missouri and adjusted the weight of Dana in his arms. She stared up at him, her eyes seeming much more aware than an infant should be. “You trust me, don’t you?” he whispered and he could feel her response, a brush of wordless emotion. “Yeah, okay. Here goes.” 

He moved slowly, up the stairs and reached for the door. It swung open and he stepped inside. Dean was kneeling between two Harriers and She stood before him, turning to Sam as he approached. 

“I was beginning to worry.” She said.

Sam’s eyes were on Dean has he responded. “Nothing to worry about. Just took some time.”

He stepped closer and the Harriers hauled Dean to his feet. “I can handle him from here.” Sam said. “Call them off.”

She smiled. “They’re here as much for you as for him, Sam.”

He flicked his gaze to her. “Call them off, or I walk out of here with the baby.”

She rolled her eyes, then nodded. The two demons backed off a few paces.

“Sam.” Dean’s eyes burned with rage as Sam looked back at him. Sam crossed the small space between them and grabbed his chin with his spare hand. He looked hard into Dean’s eyes then kissed him.

“Hold on.” Sam whispered before pulling away. 

“Give the child to Dean.” She said, walking away to pick up a scroll from the top of a box.

Sam did as he was told, transferring Dana into Dean’s arms. She gurgled, her hand rising up to touch Dean’s bruised face. Sam exhaled slowly and willed Dean to trust him, just for a little while longer.

 

“I don’t like this John.” Missouri said, looking up at him. 

He nodded, but didn’t respond right away. His eyes were tracking the movements in the living room window. He couldn’t see well enough to know what was going on inside. Truth was, he didn’t like it either. He didn’t know whether or not he could trust the boy, but he hadn’t seen any other way. “Can you still feel him?”

Missouri closed her eyes, nodding. “He’s nervous. Dean has the baby.”

“How is he?”

She twitched a little. “Sam’s concerned. Dean’s hurt.”

“How close?”

“She’s setting up for the ritual.”

John sighed and paced around the circle within which Missouri stood, fiddling with the gun in his hands. Far more than just simple salt, Sam’s concoction of salt and sulfur, cedar and motherwort formed a barrier that would protect her, even if John couldn’t. “I don’t like it either,” he said after a while.

 

Dean held Dana as close as he could, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his back and shoulders. Sam stood nearby, but Dean wasn’t sure he could trust him. At least he knew he couldn’t trust the Demon, or it’s lackeys. He shifted a little, nudging Sam’s arm. When Sam turned to look at him, Dean tried to pour all of his questions into his eyes, arching his eyebrows and pointing with his chin.

Sam’s eyes met his and held, and Dean thought he saw something…felt something. Dana made a sound and he looked down at her, thought he saw Sam in her eyes. _Trust me._

The sound of chanting brought Dean’s attention back to their surroundings, watching as the Demon set about tracing a circle, swinging a smoking censer and reciting some language Dean didn’t understand. Dean tried to follow the movement, but found himself dizzy. Sam reached out to steady him, his hand on Dean’s back, connecting with open wounds and Dean hissed. “Steady.” Sam murmured.

Sam reached over with his free hand to toy with Dana’s blanket and Dean’s eyes naturally followed his movement. _Keep hold of her, no matter what. I’ll handle the rest._

Dean shook his head, sure he was losing his mind. He looked up at Sam, but Sam was watching the Harriers. “Sam?” 

Sam’s eyes flicked back at him. There was something of an apology in them before he spoke. “Quiet.” Dean nodded, the compulsion guaranteeing he wouldn’t speak again until Sam told him to. Sam exhaled and looked up to follow the progression of the ritual.

 

“She’s almost ready.” Missouri said. 

John shifted his balance, checking the load of his gun for the hundredth time. “Are you sure he can do this?”

Missouri shook his head. “No.” Her face was grim, lips tight, eyes mostly closed. Her touch on Sam’s mind was tentative, lest it be seen and followed. John would be little protection against what might come at her if the thing inside figured out what was happening, and they both knew it. John picked up the book again, his eyes tracing the symbol he had carved into Sam’s hand. 

 

“Now then, it seems we are ready.” 

The pressure of Sam’s hand in the middle of his back brought Dean a few steps closer, into the center of the circle. Sam took Dean’s free hand and held it up, between them and the Demon. “I swore with blood to deliver blood, and thus I complete my vow.” He pulled the knife from his boot and deftly cut across Dean’s palm with the tip. 

She held up a goblet and Sam turned Dean’s hand so that blood flowed into the cup. She grinned at him. “I accept the blood you offer as payment, your vow is complete.”

Sam nodded, clenching Dean’s hand over the wound. 

The Demon held the cup up, chanting. Dean looked at Sam, then at Dana, his heart racing. “Stay still.” Sam said softly and Dean cursed him in his head. 

Dana’s eyes took on a green hue, so much like Sam’s. _Stay with me Dean._

She came forward again, the goblet stretched out as her eyes met Sam’s. “Take the knife Dean.” He pressed the knife into Dean’s injured hand, and Dean could feel his fingers close around the hilt. 

Sam reached out to pull Dana’s left arm out of the blanket, holding her hand palm up over the cut. “Cut her hand Dean. It doesn’t have to be deep.”

Dean was panting with the exertion not to do it, to break the compulsion. He watched in horror as his hand moved over Sam’s, the knife point coming into contact with soft pink skin. _Please Sam…please…_

 

“It’s time.” Missouri’s eyes closed and John stood up straight, lifting the shotgun to the ready. All around them the world seemed to stand still, the wind stopped blowing and silence settled over them. John got the distinct impression they were not alone.

“They’ve come to see if she can pull it off.” Missouri said as John’s picked out dark spots and glowing eyes around them. The air seemed colder and dawn seemed far away. 

“And if she does?”

“They’ll serve her.”

“And if she doesn’t”

“They’ll probably kill us. Now be quiet and let me concentrate.”

 

Dean wanted to plunge the knife into the Demon, into Sam, anything to stop this and get Dana to safety. Sam’s eyes were huge, begging him to trust him. Dean’s breath came in heavy gasps as Dana cried and struggled in his hand and Sam let her bleed into the cup. 

As Sam closed her tiny hand over the cut, Dean’s eyes caught on his own hand, bloody, with far more blood that just his and Dana’s. He watched several thick drops fall into the cup before Sam was tucking Dana’s hand back inside the blanket.

The Demon raised the cup again, and chanted more. Suddenly Dean recognized the language, Sumerian…though how or why he wasn’t sure. He wanted to shake his head, wanted to run…but he was stuck, standing still because Sam had ordered him to.

“Here is where we see if you’ve learned your lessons in obedience, Dean.” She said. “I desire entrance into the world, a physical body in which to dwell undisturbed. Offer her to me.”

Dean bit down, looked to Sam. Sam raised a hand, cradling his face, turned him toward Dana. _Hold her up, but say nothing._ Dean wasn’t sure what he was hearing…or more accurately, sensing. It felt…strange, a voice in his head, only not. A presence, familiar, only not. 

He found his arms lifting, cradling his crying daughter and holding her between the three of them. “Very good Dean.”

She passed a hand over Dana, smiling. “Such power…” Her finger dipped into the cup and came up, dripping blood from a long, fake fingernail. She traced a sigil on Dana’s forehead, chanting. Dean could feel power building in the room, his eyes locked on Dana’s, his heart thumping. 

_Sam, please…tell me you’re doing something_. Dean thought, though he couldn’t look up at him.

_Trust me._

 

Missouri stiffened. “John,” she gasped. “Now…it’s happening now.”

Her eyes opened, all opaque and white and her body shook as she started reciting the incantation Sam had given her. This was far beyond anything she’d ever attempted, a magic older than the new age mumbo jumbo she usually had to deal with. Her senses opened, Sam’s mind rushing in, Dana’s not far behind. She had to reach out for Dean’s, hidden behind Sam, behind the compulsion. He was angry and confused. She couldn’t blame him. 

John paced around her, helpless. 

 

Dean shook, fighting to pull Dana back, to hold her close and keep her safe. The Demon stepped back, her voice rising as wind whipped through the room and flames shot up around them. Her head tilted back, her mouth opening wider than seemed possible, and black, inky smoke spewed from her mouth as she screamed.

Dean’s breathing was heavy, harsh. The last of the Demon’s essence cleared its host body and she slumped to the floor. In one movement, Sam pulled open Dana’s blanket, exposing a strange sigil drawn on her stomach. “Hold her.” Sam yelled at him over the roaring wind as he brought his bloody hand down on her stomach. 

Dana’s crying echoed the throbbing through Dean’s body as the black mass descended toward them and Sam pressed them down until Dean was kneeling on the floor. Sam’s free hand held the knife, lifting it above their heads as he yelled words Dean couldn’t understand.

His head was swimming, his body shuddering. The darkness beckoned, the cool black of unconsciousness… _Hold on, Dean. Hold on_. Dean wasn’t sure whose voice it was, but he clung to it, clawing his way up…if only to hold on to his daughter a little while longer.


	20. Chapter 20

All around them the trees creaked, bending over themselves in the sudden wind. John had to fight to keep his feet as the demons crept closer to the house and Missouri chanted the words. Inside the house, he could see flickering lights and he could hear screaming.

He took two steps closer to the house, torn between trying to help Dean and Dana, and staying with Missouri, whose job was to hold it all together, forming a bridge between Dana and Sam.

 

The dark, swirling mass of black descended toward them. Dean was dimly aware that Dana wasn’t crying anymore. He looked at Sam, his hand still firmly connected to Dana’s chest, his eyes closed and his face a mask of concentration. The howling of the wind through the house was deafening. 

Sam’s eyes opened, swirling green and black and gold as he stared down at Dean, at Dana. Dean’s eyes moved to Dana’s face, to her eyes, wide and filled with green and white. Her tiny body was hot in his hands and Sam’s hand against her body seemed so huge. Light poured from between them, from under Sam’s hand, engulfed his hand and up his arm.

Dean felt the weight lifting, Dana’s body rising from his arms. He wanted to scream, but the compulsion held him silent. He could only watch helplessly as the light engulfed her, engulfed Sam and the inky blackness swooped down upon them. 

 

John shot with deadly aim as they came closer. Some of them got back up and continued their movement, some toward him and Missouri, some toward the house. He dropped the shotgun and pulled two hand guns from his belt. 

Behind him, Missouri still chanted inside her circle, her eyes closed. John spared a glance toward the house as light filled the downstairs windows. If he understood Sam’s plan, and trusted him, this was a good sign. If it worked, they’d still have to deal with all of these demons and creatures when it was over. Unless he dealt with them now. 

 

Sam watched Dean slump to the ground, but couldn’t spare the effort to ensure he was okay. He sheathed the blade and turned to cradle Dana in his arms, feeling her nearly a part of him, feeling the strength of Missouri’s touch, holding this bridge between them. “Okay, baby girl, let’s clean up this mess.”

Dana’s hands clapped together and Sam saw light dance around them. “Show off,” he murmured before turning his attention to the demon. The black had coalesced into something resembling human form without features. 

“You think you can keep her from me, boy?”

It’s voice grated, almost a physical blow and Sam stepped back a pace. “You want her?” He held her up, facing the black figure. “Go for it.”

“I will feast on the flesh from your bones, boy.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah…I hear you.” The black form surged forward, and the air filled with squealing as it contacted Dana’s skin. “What’s the matter? Afraid of a little baby?”

“What have you done?” The demon swirled back, retaking shape.

Sam chuckled. “Contaminated the blood.” He held up his bloody hand, the sigil carved into it glowing in the light. “Mine, my father’s…Winchester blood. Family blood.” He bounced Dana a little in his arms. “You only made her stronger.” His eyes burned as he looked from Dana to the demon. “I made her an avatar.”

It wasn’t the entire truth, but at this point it didn’t matter so much. Sam waited while it paced around them. “This is not possible.” It hissed and Sam smiled. 

“No? Want to try again?”

It charged at them and Sam spun around, clinging tightly to Dana as he reached out with his bloody hand to connect with the black mass. A trail of red marked it as it pushed into them and Sam backed away again. The squealing was louder this time and Sam grinned. “Still think it isn’t possible?”

Dean groaned and Sam glanced his way. “Not now Dean.” Sam murmured. 

The demon swirled around them, still screaming, then slowly settled into form again beside Dean. “So, you have kept the child, perhaps I will take your boy.” It ran a hand down Dean’s arm and Sam jumped toward them.

“Don’t think I won’t still send you to hell.”

It shook its head. “And kill little lover boy too? I don’t think so. Give me the child.”

 

“Missouri?”

“He’s weakening. I don’t know how much longer I can hold them.”

“I’m going in there.”

“No! John!” 

But John was already at the door, blowing the knob off and barging his way inside.

 

Dean was vaguely aware of his father’s voice over the roaring din in his head. Fiery fingers trailed over the icy cold of his skin. 

“Dean!” Sam. Sam’s voice. “Dean, look at me.” Commanding, demanding. Dean looked up and toward the sound. “Good. Look at me, see only me.” 

Dean could feel something touching him, those same fiery fingers. “Come to me Dean.”

His body jerked forward, away from those fingers, across the floor. Then stopped. Tendrils of black smoke moved over him, surrounding him. 

“Look at me Dean!” There was something frantic in his voice and Dean wasn’t even aware he had looked away, but his eyes came back to Sam’s. Luminescent green that seemed to crackle with power. “Come to me.” Dean felt himself fly across the floor, skidding to a stop at Sam’s feet. Sam’s hand closed over Dean’s and warmth began to flood into him. Sam grinned at him. “Can you sit up?”

Dean nodded and let Sam help him. “Hold her, and keep a hand on me.” Sam said, shifting Dana into Dean’s arms. Everything looked different, faded, odd. Dana’s body was hot to the touch and her eyes burned with light. Sam pulled the knife from his boot. “Time to end this.”

 

John let the wind whip around him, pulling him closer to the circle. Inside a woman’s body lay unconscious on the floor, three Harriers were moving to back up the black smoky figure, and Sam stood his ground, Dean and Dana at his feet. He felt helpless. He felt alone. He watched as the demons advanced, unable to do more.

 

“Do you think a knife is going to do any good against me, boy?”

Sam smiled. “Why don’t you come and find out.”

It was circling them again, the Harriers moving to back it up. “A blade is only good on corporeal forms.”

Sam shrugged a little. “Then come a little closer.”

It surged forward then and Sam struck forward with the knife and with every once of power he had gathered from himself and Dana. White lightening shot out from the blade as it connected with the darkness and howling filled the air. The demon lost form, reverting back to a cloud of black smoke as the lightening crackled through it and burned at its edges. Sam dropped to the ground, the knife clattering against the floor. With a loud clap of thunder, the protective circle collapsed and the demon fell to the floor, in a pile of black ash.

Sam groaned and rolled to his side, already looking for Dean. He felt the first claws in his thigh and screamed, turning to find the largest of the three Harriers pulling him. A shot rang out and the Harrier dropped. He heard another shot and saw a second one fall. The third crashed through the window, disappearing into the fading night.

“Dean?” John knelt beside Dean, whose eyes were still on Sam. 

“You are no longer bound. I release you.” Sam whispered and Dean’ blinked several times before looking up at his father, then down at Dana.

“You okay, Dad?” Dean asked as John blinked back tears. 

John caressed Dana’s head with one hand and nodded. “Yeah…Dean. I’m good.”

Dean nodded, looked to Sam. “You?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Sam said, pulling the Harrier’s claw out of his leg.

“Is it over?” Dean asked.

“It’s over for now.” 

The female voice stopped all of them, though Dean was the first to speak. “Mom?”

“I told you I couldn’t protect you.”

Dean let John help him to his feet. “We’re okay.” 

Her smile was light, sad. “I know.”

Sam limped closer, his face white, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping open. “Mom? This is...this…”

She turned to look at him, her hand rising between them as if to stroke his face. “Sam. My beautiful Sam.” She came even closer, whispering to him before moving on to Dana and Dean. She brushed ghostly lips over Dana’s head. “Keep her close, Dean. She will bring you such joy.” 

John was crying opening as the went to him and he had trouble looking her in the face. “You are a good man, John, and a good father.”

“Mary, I—“

“Shh…John. Don’t. It’s time.”

Dean put Dana in Sam’s hands and moved closer to his father. “What? No. No. Not now. We just…we only…”

She smiled for Dean. “I only stayed to see my boys together again…and here you are.”

Her imaged hitched and she moved away, flames already licking at the edges. “I will always love you. All of you.”

She was gone and Dean collapsed. Sirens could be heard in the distance. “We should get out of here.” John said softly, reaching for Dean. 

“No.” Dean protested weakly.

“Dean, he’s right. We don’t want to be here when the police arrive.”

Missouri was picking herself up off the ground a little shakily as they emerged, Dean supported by John. All around them lay dead corpses of creatures local law would have difficulty identifying. Without a word, John settled Dean into the truck and they cleaned up the evidence of their night’s work before loading into the two vehicles. 

 

“You should really go to the hospital.” Sam said for the fourth or fifth time while he bounced Dana on his knee.

Dean made a face and took another swig off the bottle in his hand, but shook his head. “Dad does better work anyway.”

“Hold still.” John growled. His hands had stopped shaking, but the gashes were pretty deep and he tended to think Sam was right. 

“Mind explaining all that to me?” Dean asked after another sip.

Sam ducked his head to kiss Dana’s forehead. “Your daughter and I kicked some demon behind.”

“Dana?”

Sam sighed and looked up just as Missouri rejoined them, and ice pack in one hand and a second bottle in the other. “Sam…remembered a really old ritual, one that takes someone pure of soul and imbues them with the powers of a deva. For the record, I didn’t like it.” Missouri said, settling into a chair.

“If done properly, the ritual creates an avatar, a receptacle for a deva…much the same as the baptism in Seer’s blood and mother’s blood creates a vessel for a demon.”

“So rather than letting her be possessed by one force, you offered her to another?”

Sam smiled. “No, I just wanted the demon to think I had.” He chuckled and Missouri gave him a very dirty look. “Sorry. I couldn’t tell you what I had planned.”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was angry. 

“Okay, okay.” Sam watched as John stitched a little more. “I haven’t been completely honest with you. The dreams aren’t the only gift to manifest before now. Sometimes, I can make something other people believe so real, that it becomes real. It has to be something that absolutely fear or love, has to have really strong emotion. An avatar is one of the few things that could easily defeat that level of demon.”

“So you bet their lives on a gift you can sometimes use?” John asked, his hand pausing mid-stitch.

Sam shrugged. “It worked.”

“I’m still not getting it. What was the light show and all that?”

“Dana.” Sam smiled as she put her hands on both sides of his face and she pushed up to standing to lean in with an open mouth to kiss his nose. 

“What?” John and Dean asked at the same time. Sam turned her to look at them.

“I was just a conduit. That all came from her.”

“I can vouch for that.” Missouri said, holding the ice pack on her head. “Speaking as the person who built that conduit.”

“My daughter killed the demon?”

“With a little help from her uncle Sam, right baby girl?” Sam settled her back onto his lap, giving her the silly dog with the plastic face. “The power was mostly hers, I just gave it somewhere to go. It wanted her for a reason, guys.”

John finished stitching up Dean’s back in silence. “What about the blood, Sam?” Dean asked after a long quiet. “You made sure you bled into that cup. That blood was used on her forehead. Your hand, and the sigil, and the blood….what was that?”

Sam looked down at his bandaged hand. “In order to ready the vessel, the blood of the mother and a related Seer are used to baptize an infant Seer. The blood of the father and the infant Seer are then required to open the vessel, to make her pliable enough for the demon to enter. Infants, as a general rule, have a natural protection. Demons can take kids, but usually not until they’re at least 5…not until they understand right and wrong, not before they can consciously choose to do the wrong.”

“How does you adding more blood change it?”

Sam looked up to John. “Blood is one of the most protective things on the planet. Family blood especially. That was your father’s blood and my blood. It changed everything, and rather than opening her up, it locked the doors and threw the key into a deep pit.”

John held up his own bandaged hand as Dean looked. Dean took another swig from the bottle. “I’m tired,” he announced suddenly, his words slurring a little.

“I haven’t finished patching you up.” John said, one hand on his shoulder keeping Dean in his chair. 

“I’m fine. Want sleep.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever. Sam, your turn then, let’s have a look at that calf.”

Sam complied, settling Dana down on a blanket on the floor before laying beside her and offering up his lower leg for inspection. He pillowed his head on his arms and watched Dana chew on her dog, scarcely wincing when John pinched the wound closed. “You should drink some whiskey to dull the pain.” John said. 

Dean roused himself from the chair, setting the bottle down by Sam’s head before stumbling his way up the stairs. “I’m good. Go ahead.” Sam said, closing his eyes.

“It’s going to hurt.” 

Sam only nodded. “I know.”

Dana moved forward, closer to Sam’s face as John’s fingers nimbly pushed the needle through his skin. She mimicked his position, tiny hands under her head and smiled at him. Sam found himself smiling back. Her eyes twinkled and for a moment he could see himself in them. There was something so pure in her face when she looked at him, and it took him a long time staring at her to understand what it was.

When he did, he flushed, his whole body warm and his heart pattering a little faster. He reached out with one finger to brush her face as her eyes drifted shut sleepily. “Yeah, baby…I love you too,” he whispered. 

She sighed a little and then her eyes were closed and John was patting his thigh. “All done.”

Sam nodded. He sat up, surprised to find that Missouri had left the room. John sat in the chair and reached for the bottle she had left behind. Sam wet his lips and watched, the slump in the chair, the tired that hung in the bags under his eyes. Now probably wasn’t the time for this conversation…but Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever have the nerve again.

“I have no right to ask for anything at this point,” he started. “I know I’ve done some terrible things, and I’ve lied to you and to Dean. But…I…” He looked down at his leg, turning it to see the neat, even stitches. “I wanted you to know…how much I…” He exhaled and scolded himself. This shouldn’t be so hard. 

“This is so retarded,” he muttered. “I’ve hated you for a really long time…ever since I can remember. I realize now that all the reasons were lies. I believed them, when they told me…I believed them.” He looked up at John with hope in his eyes. “I wanted to—can you…forgive me?”

John’s eyes narrowed and he took a long drink from the bottle before leaning forward. “Before I answer you, I have a few things I want to say.”

Sam swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

“I want you to know I heard you…there, when it was over. I heard you.”

Sam felt tears forming and lowered his eyes. “Oh?” He knew without asking what the older man meant. “I…could have done it any time…I didn’t want to let him go.”

John nodded and sat back in his chair. “But you did.”

Sam felt the tears on his cheek and waited. “What you have done in the years before you met Dean, before you knew the truth…none of that is your fault. What you will bear the blame for are the things you’ve done since you’ve known. We all make choices, Sam. Everyday. Today you made good choices.”

Sam drew in a shuddering breath. “Thank you, sir.”

John smiled. “Whatever came before, Sam…all of that…I forgave you the first time I saw you. The rest…that may take a while.”

“Fair enough.” Sam climbed to his feet. “Thank you.”

“Go on, get some sleep. I’ll put Dana to bed.”

Sam nodded and made for the stairs. “Oh, and Sam?” He turned with one foot on the step. “I think it would be okay if you wanted to call me Dad.” Sam smiled and nodded again. Then made his way up the stairs.

He paused at Dean’s door, easing it open to check on him. Dean was asleep on his side, his torn up back open to the air. Sam shook his head, knowing his brother had gotten off light. The damage, as Harrier attacks went, was usually much more severe.

That made him stop, looking at his own scars, suddenly remembering that with the compulsory hex removed, Dean had been seeing Sam’s scars for several hours. That, combined with the anger in his voice…Sam licked his lips. Anger he understood, he could cope with anger. Revulsion though…the scars would naturally lead to questions, to knowing what had been done to him…that was something Sam wasn’t ready for.

With a sigh, Sam slipped from the room and across the hall. He took a moment to pull the blinds on the bright morning sunshine before stripping and slipping into bed. It didn’t take long for the exhaustion of his body to trump his racing mind and drag him into sleep.

 

The room was dark when he woke, light touches on his arms, the weight of another body on the bed. He opened his eyes slowly, finding Dean there with him. “Dean?”

It was apparent as Sam pulled himself to a seat against the headboard that Dean had been crying. “I had a dream.” Dean said, reaching for him. “You died. I lost you.”

“I’m right here Dean. I’m fine.”

“Want you.”

Dean leaned in to kiss him and Sam stopped him. “What?” Dean looked confused. “I thought you wanted this.”

“And you never did. Not once you knew who I was.” Sam pulled away and climbed out of bed, suddenly conscious of the fact that he was naked. He paced away. 

“Not true.” Dean was on his feet and following him. “Sam. Listen.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean, I lied to you. I used that hex to make you want me. It wasn’t real.”

“I know about hexes too Sam.” Dean insisted. “You can’t work with emotion that isn’t there to begin with.”

Sam ducked past him and stalked over to the light switch. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Dean. I’m not the person you think I am.” He turned the lights on and Dean squinted a little in the sudden wash of light. “Take a good look. Look at this and tell me you want me.”

Sam dropped his gaze. “My whole life has been a lie. Its time to face the truth.”

Dean was suddenly in front of him, pressing him against the wall, his mouth slanting over Sam’s, his tongue dipping lightly into Sam’s mouth. His hands cupped Sam’s face as they kissed, then slowly, his left had traced the first line of scarring that stretched from just to the right of Sam’s nose off toward his ear. As his hand reached Sam’s neck, he broke the kiss, his lips trailing after his hand. 

Dean’s tongue traced the patterns of the marks, up behind Sam’s ear, and down over the corded muscle of his neck. Sam moaned and pushed at him weakly with the other hand. Dean moved back to his mouth, his kiss soft. Sam squirmed under him, nervous and uncertain. “Let me show you truth.” Dean whispered. Sam shuddered and Dean turned his mouth back to Sam’s shoulder.

He pressed open mouth kisses along the thick marks of claws, his tongue burning a trail down his arm, then up again to find a new trail down over Sam’s chest. The burn pattern swirled under his nipple and Dean followed, kissing around it before sucking the hard nub into his mouth. 

Sam stopped wiggling, stopped moving. His breathing was shallow and his cock, Dean couldn’t help but notice, was hard. Dean kissed his way back up Sam’s body, his hands sliding over the bumpy, scarred skin and the smooth normal skin together. “Want you.” Dean’s kiss was a little more intense, his tongue dipping deeper, his lips claiming Sam’s for his own. “Want all of you.” He nipped lightly at his lower lip before delving back into the hot, moist cavern of his mouth. “Want all of you, Sammy.”

Sam moaned into his mouth, then pushed them off the wall, spinning them until they were moving toward the bed. “Dean…Dean…” Sam’s hands pushed at Dean’s boxers, even as he was falling down onto the bed. 

“It’s okay Sam.” Dean stepped out of the boxers and followed, his hands moving over the bumpy skin, keeping himself connected. He slipped one hand over Sam’s foot, caressing the calloused arch and up over the ankle. He worked his way with soft hands and tender lips and hot tongue up every damaged inch of skin until he reached Sam’s mouth. “You taste so good Sammy…” He pulled back when he felt wetness, surprised to find Sam crying. “Is this okay?”

Sam nodded slowly then pulled Dean closer, kissing deeply and then looking into his eyes. “Go slow.”

Dean nodded and kissed him again, taking his time, his hands moving down to cup Sam’s cock. Sam surged under him, his cock gliding into Dean’s hand. Dean let his lips wander again, away from Sam’s lips and down…crisscrossing from his right side to his left, stroking as much skin as he could with lips and tongue. When he reached Sam’s cock it was already leaking pre-cum. Dean licked it, looking up at Sam and smiling when Sam lurched. “Easy, Sammy….I got you…” 

Dean’s open mouth descended, closing over the tip, his tongue working that little knot of nerves under the head before swallowing him down and sucking all the way back up. “God, Sam…” 

Dean moved so that he could cradle Sam’s balls with one hand before turning his attention to long licks up the side of his cock. Sam’s whimpers made him look up, concerned, but the combination of tears and open-mouthed lust made Dean shiver. His hand cupping Sam’s balls moved, one finger sliding further down, sliding into the crease of Sam’s ass.

Sam stiffened, his legs tensing. Dean blew hot air onto this dick and moved the hand back. “Slow, Sam. Easy and slow,” he murmured. He went back to gently licking at Sam’s cock.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice was small, filled with need and Dean nodded before swallowing his full length. “Fuck, Dean.” He set a swift rhythm, bobbing his head as Sam’s hips started to thrust upward to meet him. He came in a rush, his body arching upward as Dean swallowed, and descending slowly back to the bed. 

Sam was panting, chest heaving, tears painting his face. Dean slid up to lay beside him, his own cock hot and hard. He kissed at the tears on Sam’s face. “It’s okay, Sam. It’s okay.”

Sam shivered. “I want to…I do…I just…I can’t…”

“Shh…its okay.” Dean gathered him closer. “I understand.”

“Can’t.” Sam cried harder, sobs wracking his body as Dean held him. As they passed, Dean held his chin.

“Sammy, look at me.” 

Sam’s eyes met his, green to green and intense with tears. “I understand. I know.” Dean’s eyes roamed over his face, his hand tracing the lines of scars. “Do you understand me?”

Sam saw the reflection of a shared horror in Dean’s eyes and nodded. “Good.” Dean shifted to make his back more comfortable. 

They lay comfortable and silent as the darkness in the room deepened. It was a while before Sam stirred, turning to face Dean. “I can’t promise anything,” he whispered. “I can’t promise I can change who I am.”

“You already have.” Dean whispered back.

“I don’t know what happens next.”

Dean chuckled. “Me either. We’ve been at this so long…”

“Would it be…okay…if I stayed a while?”

“Where else would you go?” Dean rubbed his hand over Sam’s arm. “You’re my brother, Sammy, and I’m going to take care of you from now on.”

Sam laughed a little, his smile bright. “And who’s going to take care of you?”

Dean smiled back. “I guess that’s your job, being the brother and all.”

Sam snuggled in under Dean’s chin, holding Dean’s hand in his. “I just wonder which one of us is the kept one,” he said, with a smile in his voice.

“Go to sleep Sammy.”


End file.
